


Bobby of Far Away

by nightmares06, PL1



Series: Brothers Asunder [3]
Category: Bowman of Wellwood, Supernatural
Genre: Betrayal, G/T, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Separation, Sequel, Size Difference, Sprite, giant tiny - Freeform, size!fic, this is a direct continuation to dean of nowhere, wood sprite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:47:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 69,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22762714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmares06/pseuds/nightmares06, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PL1/pseuds/PL1
Summary: Sam's missing. Dean's injured.A simple hunt for a demon has gone south. Despite sending the demon back to hell with assistance from Bobby Singer, the revelation has come that Scar Wolfblind and Sam Winchester have gone missing. Dean, Jacob and Bowman are left to unravel the tangled threads of this case to discover the real culprit, and bring the wayward knights home to Wellwood.
Series: Brothers Asunder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/608086
Comments: 75
Kudos: 74





	1. Brave Knights of Wellwood

**Author's Note:**

> Bobby of Far Away is a direct sequel to Dean of Nowhere, and the events at the beginning happen simultaneous to the events at the end of Dean of Nowhere. Enjoy!

__

(( Story artwork by @[quackghost](https://www.deviantart.com/quackghost) ))

_Were we too late?!_

The pale-skinned human lay motionless on the ground as Sam dashed up to him. One arm was skewed under his body and the other lay outstretched, and that was where Sam went. “C’mon, kid, you’ve gotta be okay,” Sam begged, continuing his even tone and hoping he could draw Bobby back to life.

He shoved both hands down on the kid’s wrist, and the tension left his shoulders as a pulse thudded under his touch.

“Thank God…”

Out of sight from Sam, ice blue eyes snapped open.

Bobby blinked several times, maintaining the slow breathing of unconsciousness while he gathered his bearings. He felt that little tickle by his wrist, and he knew what it had to be. He remembered every second of the fight, after all.

A smirk twitched at his lips. Without warning, his hand moved and wrapped around the tiny person he knew to be there, pinning the slim arms and immobilizing its legs. He sat up slowly, lifting the tiny thing up to peer more closely at it. It had no wings, but it wore lots of green and brown, earthy colors to blend in with the forest surroundings. A glance at the little glider it had left behind explained the lack of wings.

His temporary headmate had promised it would help him find the sprites that he _knew_ lived somewhere on his family's land. This wasn't a sprite, but it was a start.

"How about that," he said, a grin forming on his face. "Did I hear you right, earlier, squirt? Said _you_ were gonna help _me_ , right?"

Sam squirmed uncomfortably in the tight grip. Being snatched off the ground wasn’t completely unexpected. Jacob had almost done that exact same thing when Bowman had caught him off guard, only stopping at the last second. The look on Bowman’s face at the thought of being casually _swatted_ was a treasure, especially since it had happened with both Cerul _and_ Scar around to see.

It was pure chance that the rapier attached to Sam’s side hadn’t pierced the human’s skin when he’d been grabbed. Sam didn’t want to think about a human clenching his hand shut in pain while he was in it.

Sam focused on the human. Blond hair, pale skin and blue eyes, the teenager had been rescued from the demon by the exorcism ritual Dean had given him. The teen was probably disoriented and confused by what was going on, waking up deep in the woods when he was supposed to be on a camping trip with his buddies.

“That’s right,” Sam said with a reassuring tone of voice and a gentle grin, knowing the sight of a tiny person wouldn’t help the confusion at all. He tried to pull an arm free to offer a reassuring hand as well, but couldn’t budge it. “I’m here to help. You were possessed by a demon, and now it’s gone.” He glanced around the area they were in, the sky creeping towards night above them. “In fact, Jacob’s not far away, and my brother Dean is around. They can help you get back to your house, safe. If you want, I can lead you to them with my glider.”

Bobby stared at Sam for a few more long seconds, before chuckling. "Jacob's right over there, actually," he said, gesturing towards his fallen friend with the same hand wrapped around the tiny person. He even used his index finger to point, while still keeping his grip around the little guy.

Jacob lay collapsed in a heap at the base of a tree, his eyes shut and his large body completely limp. His head had struck the tree pretty hard if it knocked him out just like that. Then again, Bobby _had_ been extra strong when he tossed his friend backwards. He'd wanted to test it out and Jacob hadn't offered much resistance at all. It was _pathetic._

"That guy's usually the strong one, and damn it felt pretty cool to turn that around for a second," he admitted, closing his hand securely around Sam once more and pushing himself to his feet. He brushed himself off absently before lifting Sam higher, but not so high that he wasn't still looking down at him.

"I'm sure Jacob will find his way to what's-his-face soon enough," he said. "As for me, I bet my car's still over by the campgrounds, so that's where I'm going. There's a few wolves and coyotes and shit out here, don't wanna mess with those."

Sam had to wait for the nausea to subside to be sure he was hearing right. Being waved carelessly through the air in a fist was nothing like flying on his own, and rising so rapidly through the air left his head woozy. “But… Jacob needs _help!_ ” he insisted, worry for his friend first and foremost. The sight of such a large guy collapsed on the ground after an attack like that filled him with concern.

The fact that he hadn’t been put down or even had the grasp around his body loosened came back to him, nagging at his growing worry. “Bobby, let me go to my glider,” Sam persisted, hoping the teen was just dazed from the demon. “I need to get Jacob help. If you want to go to your car, fine. But let me help my friend.”

"He's about to be the last person you wanna deal with, squirt," Bobby said, his smirk returning. There was a grim glint in his eyes. "A demon's gotta go _somewhere,_ right?" he reasoned, turning away from Jacob and starting in what he was pretty sure was the right direction.

Finding Jacob out here had been pretty surprising, even for the demon. Bobby hadn't expected him to show up, even if a hunter _was_ expected. At least Bobby had had time to learn plenty from the thing he shared his head with for a few days.

He paused, turning to look back at Jacob's fallen form. Before he could let the small seeds of regret take root, he glanced down at his fist again. It was worth it to further his own goals. He started walking again, looking over the little man in his fist with a little more curiosity than he'd allowed himself before. "How'd you meet Jacob, anyhow?"

Sam stared up at Bobby, fear starting to take hold at the casual way the teen was leaving the glider and _Jacob_ behind. “We just… found him,” Sam said slowly. “He was camping out in the woods and we stumbled onto him.”

He squirmed in the tight grip, his breathing starting to speed up as a sudden claustrophobia struck. Never in his life had he been _confined_ like this. Even when finding Jacob and Dean, neither human had ever once grabbed him.

That distinction fell to Bowman.

No matter what, though, both humans had let the sprite go. Dean took a little longer, just because of the bristling argument he was having with Jacob and the way he was under the misguided notion that the teen might try and hurt the harmless sprites.

“ _Bobby._ ” Sam had to keep trying. For his friends. “Please. We _helped_ you. If the demon’s in Jacob, we need to help him! The exorcism will send it back to Hell where it belongs. Don’t just leave him there!”

Bobby chuckled again. His other hand lifted and he placed the tip of his index finger on the top of Sam's head. "Listen, squirt," he began, roughly messing up Sam's hair before moving his hand away. "I get it. You're worried. But I'm really not, and seeing as I'm clearly the one in charge here ..." He paused and rose his eyebrows in a condescending look. "Am I being too subtle for you?"

His harsh words were punctuated by a rustling from above. At first, it sounded like leaves until a small shape dropped from the canopy above. "Holy _shit,_ " Bobby blurted, almost leaping back. The hand with Sam was held close to his chest to avoid dropping his tiny captive while his blue eyes stared at the small shape that had darted past where his wrist was moments ago.

He laughed when the thing flew up higher again, about a foot above his eye level. Leafy green wings, barely illuminated by the dying sunlight, held the little guy aloft.

"This is more like it," Bobby said with a grin that held nothing but cold greed in it. "Here I thought I was stuck with some wingless knockoff."

The sprite with his tiny sword drawn glared at Bobby. "Release him at once, giant," he commanded in a strong (if tiny) voice. "Or I will be forced to attack again."

Sam set to struggling, now that he knew how much danger they were in. This kid was _nothing_ like Jacob or Dean. The phantom feeling of a huge finger on his head, messing with his hair and straining his neck, stuck with him. It would only take the slightest wrong move to snap his neck completely.

“Scar!” Sam shouted, hoping the sprite would listen. They couldn’t afford to both get caught. “There’s no demon anymore! It’s like the archives warned, don’t get yourself caught!” If only he could get his rapier or his knife free. He needed his arms, so he could strike back.

Scar glanced at Sam, and then back at the human. After finding Jacob collapsed, he assumed it had to have been the creature Dean talked about. He never imagined he'd encounter one of the humans that the Archives warned all of them about.

He met gazes with the human again, who was staring at him with those ice blue eyes. Scar recognized a look in them that sent adrenaline coursing through him. It was the look of a predator, one that felt confident in its ability to corner and take its prey. Scar had seen that look many times.

He'd stabbed that look right out of the eyes of a wolf, once. Most of the predators in Wellwood had a healthy respect for Scar Wolfblind, and he would simply have to teach the newcomer the same.

"One more warning, human: Release him," Scar called, his voice never wavering. He pointed his sword right at the human in warning. "Or I will be forced to attack."

Bobby chuckled. "Oh, I'm so scared. Look at that little toothpick."

Scar didn't give him time to laugh again. He surged forward, his wings tucked close. He couldn't risk attacking the hand with Sam directly, lest the giant squeeze him in a reflex action. Instead, Scar swept past the human's surprised grab at him with his other arm, and as he passed the widest part of the arm, he landed his boots briefly on it.

He stabbed his rapier straight into the muscle, not bothering with little slashes. The arm spasmed and he leapt off again while Bobby let out a hissed curse. He looked over to the other hand to make sure that Sam hadn't been squeezed after all, and the moment of inattention was all it took.

Bobby had learned a thing or two about looking past pain from the demon. His goal was more important, and he could deal with the tiny pinprick later. He moved his arm after the sprite, which was checking on its little friend, and managed to close his hand around the tiny thing's legs. Its little eyes widened and the loss of momentum made the tiny sword slip from its grasp and fall to the ground below.

“ _Dammit!_ ” Sam shouted in frustration. He actually slipped back into human curses for a moment as the shock of how easily _Scar_ had been caught. Sam knew he was decent enough as a knight, but Scar... 

Scar was practically a _legend_.

For years after Sam’s rescue, he’d looked up to the noble sprite. Without Scar, Sam would be nothing more than a memory. The sprite had seen his dedication and his curiosity about the knights and everything about them… the way they defended the village, the rapiers and uniforms they wore… and had decided to take Sam under his wing and mentor him. Even as Sam had passed Scar in height, he continued to look up to him. He hoped to have Dean and Scar finally get to know each other, since both had played such important parts in his life.

Instead, Scar and Sam were both trapped.

“We were _helping you!_ ” Sam snapped angrily up at the human. “Why the hell would you do this?!”

Scar wavered, with his legs only caught from just above the knees and down. He glared in surprise at the human, but cursed himself for his mistake even as the giant stared in smug triumph at him. He'd miscalculated and made a dangerous error in taking his focus off the enemy for even a second. He should have known better.

But this Bobby acted like no foe Scar had ever encountered before. The attack had _hurt_ him, but he didn't _care._

"I'm doing it because it's my land and I've been looking for sprites for forever!" Bobby answered, exasperated and clearly annoyed that he even bothered to explain at all. It was clear on his face that it was a waste of time. "Now shuddup, would ya? This is a big deal." He held Scar up at his eye level, watching the lean little guy try to stay upright while also trying to tug his legs free. It was futile, of course. He was way too weak.

“Owning land doesn’t mean you own _people_ ,” Sam snapped up at the human. 

"Blast it, you _child,_ " Scar hissed. "Let go of us both now!" His voice was thick with demand.

Bobby, of course, ignored him. Instead, he raised his other hand, the one still clamped around Sam. After adjusting his grip a little, he was able to pinch one of the fluttering, leafy wings in his thumb and first finger to stretch it out and look at it in the dying light.

Sam managed to pull out an arm and try to shove against the hand he was trapped in once the grip shifted around him. He couldn’t gain any traction at all. He might be stronger than a sprite but that meant almost nothing compared to a human of any size. Bobby was younger than him, and he was as inconsequential as a toy in those huge fingers as they shifted around him to examine the sprite.

“Leave his wings alone!” Sam shouted, punching in frustration against the knuckle he was closest to. He shoved his boots against the skin they were trapped within, wishing they had sharper heels to use as weapons.

"Nope," Bobby shot back absently, even while he forced the wing into different angles to see how it moved. Scar winced and continued to struggle against him, but the movements were subdued with one wing stretched out. He couldn't risk twisting at the wrong angle and damaging his wing.

" _Why?_ " Scar spat. "What are you planning?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes and sighed in a put-upon way. Clearly they weren't going to shut up, but then again he supposed their chattering made sense. He'd be mad, too, if he was small and weak like that. He let go of the wing and adjusted his grip on Scar so that his fist was wrapped around the tiny body up to his waist. If he could avoid damaging those wings, he'd do his best not to.

With both tiny people secure in his hands, Bobby started walking again in an attempt to beat the sunset most of the way back. "Look, guys. You got yourselves caught. No one else is out here that's gonna change that, so you might as well get used to the idea. You're coming with me."

“My brother will find us,” Sam threatened angrily. His fist clenched with frustration. “Maybe we’re too small to stop you, but we’re not the only ones around. I _know_ Dean will find us!” He glared up through his bangs at the human, not caring one bit about retaliation with Scar at risk. If he could pull the interest down on himself, so be it. 

Tears hid at the corner of his eyes as the world passed them swiftly by. Bowman might be able to catch up, but there was nothing he could do to help them without Dean or Jacob as backup. Sam was seeing his home, his family, and his older brother all slip away from him before he’d even had the chance to introduce Dean to everyone. The unfairness of it all struck him, leaving rage coursing through his body. If only he could put it to use. “And the only reason I got caught was because I was _helping you!_ ”

"Right, sure," Bobby answered, condescension in every inch of him and every glance down at them he made. His ice blue eyes held no remorse and no sympathy for the uncomfortable squirms in his fists. The tiny sprite and the sprite-lookalike couldn't get away no matter how hard they tried.

"Tough luck, little guy. I didn't need as much help as you thought. We were getting along pretty good, really."

* * *

**SUPERNATURAL**

* * *


	2. An Interesting Conversation

Scar frowned and twisted in Bobby's hand, trying to pull himself loose. Every stride took them farther from his weapon, and the knight hated being at this much of a disadvantage. At least with a sword, he could fight back against what was happening to himself and his pupil.  
  
Clearly, reasoning with Bobby would get them nowhere. The human was just like the animals described in the Archives. Giant, brutish, and selfish. It was merely luck for them that he didn't seem to intend to _eat_ them.  
  
After a few minutes of walking, Bobby shifted his grip on both of them. He forced Scar's wings to fold against his back before squashing the sprite into the same hand already wrapped around Sam to free up his other hand. The fence was approaching.  
  
Scar winced. He couldn't actually see Sam very easily, because one of his wings was pressed against the other knight's side. "Sorry, boy," he hissed, trying to free an arm like Sam had so he could try to push free.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam hissed back. He peered up to see what Bobby’s attention was on, and found the icy blue eyes turned towards the path he was following out of the forest, a path that Sam couldn’t even see for himself. The teen must know more about the forest than they’d assumed.  
  
 _I'm doing it because it's my land and I've been looking for sprites for forever!_  
  
Sam scowled at the memory of those presumptuous words. They could only be glad that this guy, either with or without the demon, hadn’t stumbled over the entire village. They didn’t know _why_ he wanted to find the sprites, and they had no way of knowing what he’d do if he found the others.   
  
“At least it’s just us,” Sam mumbled under his breath, relying heavily on his strange power of _knowing_ when he was being looked at to know if it was safe to talk. “We can figure this out. Dean’s out there, and now that he knows I’m alive there’s no way he’ll let some kid just walk off with us.”  
  
Scar nodded absently, but his eyes were scanning the trees around them. Only a few other knights were out with him to scan the woods. Only a few other pairs of eyes that might know what was happening to them, and they would be concentrating on the areas closer to the village. Wellwood was on the defensive.  
  
Scar didn't want to say it out loud, but unless Dean caught wind of what was happening, he and Sam were on their own.  
  
"We will figure it out," he said instead, trying to at least shift his wing so it wasn't shoved against Sam. It was impossible to be _comfortable_ in the human's tight fist, but they might be able to lessen some of the worst of it.  
  
"We may yet get a chance to hide farther away. If we secure that much, I will bring the other humans to you."  
  
"You two planning a party?" Bobby quipped, moving his hand back and forth just slow enough that it didn't give them whiplash, but enough to make them dizzy. "See that fence up ahead? Beyond that is civilization. You're not crossing it again, that's for damn sure." Bobby chuckled. "Maybe you two will even get famous, depends on what I decide to do, I guess."  
  
Sam squirmed in the grip, ice flowing in his veins at that. Even if _Bobby_ didn’t come back and find the village, either of the two tiny people being revealed to the world would start a witch hunt for others like them.  
  
He had no way of knowing if he was the only human that was tiny, but there were many more sprites in the world, hidden from sight. All of them could be in danger because of them, and they’d never see it coming.  
  
“I bet _you’re_ the one hoping to get famous,” Sam spat back. “Pretty sad you need us to do it.”  
  
"Sad, or resourceful, runt?" Bobby shot back without even a second thought. He bounced the pair in his hand again, smirking at the dazed look on the sprite's face. The little thing was still trying to pull his arms free.  
  
"I think I'll go with the latter. I mean, we've _known_ about your piddly little colony hidden away somewhere out here for years. I have no idea why the family would let an opportunity like that just lie around." Bobby lied a little. He did know. Most of his extended family were convinced it was an old folk tale. Just a cheesy family story. Bobby would gleefully prove that wrong, first.  
  
He crossed through the fence without bothering to close it behind him. It wasn't likely that someone else would wander this far.  
  
"Blast it," Scar muttered. He hadn't been this far from the village in years. Back when Sam was first found, the patrolsprites and knights had expanded their search farther and farther until the danger of finding a human other than the one they were looking for became too great. Too much time had passed since Sam's appearance in the forest.   
  
Scar had failed the little lost nestling then, and he was failing him again, even after training him to be able to fight.  
  
"I have poisons with me," he whispered in as low a voice as he could manage. "You still have both your weapons?" It wasn't much of a plan that he was forming, but desperation had become the theme for both captive knights. They had to try _something._  
  
Sam bowed his head, hoping to hide the fact that they were talking. So far Bobby had treated them as beneath him. Maybe they could catch him off guard. Overconfidence could be a real problem for someone so presumptuous. The long brown bangs covered his face completely, but it wasn’t like he needed to see their surroundings.  
  
They were already far from any place he’d recognize.  
  
“I’ve got both,” Sam said tersely. “And my wingsuit is ready to go if I need to jump.” After years of flying, heights was the last thing he was worried about. The jump from Dean’s hand earlier on that day was all in good fun, a jump from Bobby meant he’d need to be ready to move _fast_ when he hit the ground.  
  
Humans were _big_. There wasn’t much chance of Sam being able to outrun one unless he could find a place to hide, and fast.  
  
Scar nodded, trying to shift his wings yet again. They were clamped uncomfortably close, and the hilt of Sam's sword was digging into one. Thankfully the blade wasn't angled dangerously for it. Sam wouldn't be able to get to the rapier from this belt without slicing Scar's wing, but he had another weapon that most knights didn't usually carry with them: his dagger.  
  
"Human," Scar spoke up louder, putting the first part of his plan into action. He knew well enough by now that asking Bobby to unhand them entirely was out of the question. But Sam didn't need that if he could just get a hold of his dagger. For that, he just needed an opportunity.  
  
Bobby glanced down at them, but kept walking as the dark closed in more and more around them. "What? I'm not letting you go so don't bother."  
  
"Yes, you've made it clear," Scar shot back, managing the same amount of condescension in his voice despite his position. "But you're cutting the circulation in my wings with your monstrous hand."  
  
Bobby actually stopped walking to smirk down at them. "Is that so? Precious little leafy wings getting sore?" he mocked. His other hand appeared, and Scar tensed.  
  
Bobby did more or less what Scar expected him to do and loosened his grip on them. While Bobby was focused on him, Scar hoped Sam might have the opportunity to get his knife from his jacket. The other hand eclipsed view of Bobby's smirk long enough for Scar to move and reach into his own jacket for the vial of poison he carried and shove it at Sam.  
  
Bobby's thumb and first finger clamped around Scar's torso and pulled him away from Sam. After merely a second of them shifting around, the hand closed around Sam's middle again and Scar winced at the pressure around his chest, unable to see if his knight had what he needed to make some kind of counter attack against the human.  
  
"This better, sprite?" Bobby mocked, applying a little more pressure and forcing the air from Scar's lungs.  
  


* * *

  
Though it hurt to ignore Scar’s plight in the human’s hand, Sam was set on his own goal.  
  
The knife was easy to slip out of his jacket. There was a special pocket sewn inside, modified the same way as the ‘cape’ that made a regular knight’s jacket into a wingsuit. Sam had learned from the sprites how to fix his own clothes, and put those modifications into everything.  
  
Now, it would hopefully save them both.  
  
Sam didn’t know what kind of poison Scar had given him, but he hoped it would be potent enough to make a difference. Scar’s wings provided enough cover for him to pry off the cork and slather it onto the sharp, silver blade. Dean had imbued in Sam at a young age a care for his weapons that he’d taken to heart after his curse. The blade might be small, but it was all he had.  
  
Praying it was enough, Sam aimed at the webbing between Bobby’s thumb and fingers. If pain meant nothing to the human, maybe a reflex would be enough to escape his grasp, aided by the poison.  
  
" _Fuck!_ " burst out of Bobby's mouth and his hand flinched despite his recently-learned disregard for pain. His grip opened around Sam before he even had time to look at his captive. He fumbled against the small shape slipping through his fingers, and found that his thumb didn't quite want to cooperate with him so soon after the vicious attack.  
  
His spasmodic movements just barely managed to slow Sam's fall just enough that Bobby managed to pinch his second and third fingers around one of the tiny legs before he fell. "God fucking _dammit,_ you little shit!"  
  
He even nearly lost his grip on the sprite, who was _ready_ for the attack. The little bastards would pay for that.  
  
A heavy, dull pain like an invisible bruise was already spreading from the small stab wound. Bobby let Scar fall into a tight fist grip while lifting Sam up so he hung in front of his eyes. "Bravo, squirt," he said, with no hint of actual congratulations in his voice. Despite the unconcerned facade, he was still breathing a little hard from the close call.  
  
"Having fun trying to poke holes in me? If either of you does it again I'm gonna have to start _poking_ back, I hate owing favors."  
  
Sam dangled in place, glaring unblinkingly back at blue eyes the size of his head. It was too bad Scar never had the chance to live up to the Wolfblind name against Bobby. Disregard for pain or not, _that_ would put someone out of commission in no time flat.  
  
“You’re right, you do owe me,” Sam said flatly, folding the silver knife up his sleeve and hoping it was out of sight. He was more terrified of losing that blade than anything else, because it was his last connection to Dean. Now that he was seeing his big brother slip away _again_ , he didn’t want Bobby to snatch it away. “Since I helped you get away from that demon and everything. I doubt it would have jumped bodies without my little exorcism. So how ‘bout you let us go and we’ll call it even?”  
  
Bobby scowled, for a moment unable to come up with a retort. He didn't _need_ help. Especially not from someone who fit in his hand. The little stabs and the backtalk were becoming annoying. "You didn't 'help' anything," he pointed out. "What you did was end a very interesting conversation like the pest you're so determined to be."  
  
He took a second to assess his grasp on both small people before narrowing his eyes at Scar. "You little sneak," he said to him. Scar's face became a grimace of pain as the pressure around his body steadily increased. "Pretty clever. When we get back home I'm gonna have to reward you."  
  
He held Scar like that for a second more, ignoring any protests out of Sam, and just when it seemed like one of the sprite's tiny bones might snap, he relented. Then, he finally turned Sam right side up and closed him in the same hand as Scar once more. This time, he made sure that both of them had their arms thoroughly trapped. There was a little swelling in his empty hand, courtesy of the poison, and he wasn't going to give them another chance.  
  
"Cute effort, guys, really. Time to go," he dismissed, before lowering his hand to carry the two knights at his side, swinging slightly in time with his hurried steps.  
  
Sam sighed in aggravation as they swung in place, gladder than ever that he wasn’t afraid of heights. “That… didn’t go to plan,” he admitted in disheartened defeat as the forest began to pass them by again. The constant swinging was almost enough to make him nauseous, if he wasn’t so used to being buffeted about by the wind currents when he was in his glider.  
  
All too fast, the village was dwindling into the distance, out of reach for Sam with no way to fly. His only hope to get back there at this point might be help from a human, unless the sprites had a way to carry him home. His heart went out to Dean and Bowman and Jacob. If the demon had truly possessed the teenager, no one would see it coming.  
  
There might not be anyone left to save them.  
  
“Are you hurt?” Sam asked Scar, remembering the struggle and how easy Bobby could snap a bone if he wanted to.  
  
"No," Scar answered simply, his voice a little tight with discomfort. Being squashed into one hand with another person didn't leave much breathing room, and they had it worse because his wings were in their way. His pride might be wounded, but they could still recover this ... somehow.  
  
Sheer dumb luck had kept Bobby's grip on Sam. His other hand was probably swelling up terribly, out of sight from them, and not cooperating as the poison made his muscles sluggish. He'd be an angry giant that they'd failed to escape.  
  
Scar cast his gaze around in the dark, very unaccustomed to having little idea what to do next. If they tried anything so soon after the last stunt, he worried that the human might really do some lasting damage to Sam.  
  
Scar would do his best to prevent that from happening. From the looks of things, Bobby valued finding a sprite above finding a shrunken human.  
  
"The other knights are all defending the village," he muttered. They were on their own, but at least someone was ready to fight if the demon got too close to the village. It was a dim reassurance in bleak moments, but it was better than nothing. "We may end up in unfamiliar territory for a while, Sam, but I'm sure we can put the environment to use, as always."  
  
“I should be able to remember enough.” Sam cast his mind back years to when he’d lived as a human, before his curse. “It’ll be different now, because of the size, but there has to be a way we can use what I remember.” The frown lines deepened on his face. “Actually, there might be something more I can use.”  
  
Since discovering Jacob, Sam had found a strange sensation that hit him whenever he was being stared at by a human. Not a sprite, not an animal or an insect. Humans. Dean and Jacob both had the same effect. He hadn’t paid enough attention to Bobby after the human had awoken, but it was there.  
  
“When Jacob or Dean look at me, I can _feel_ it,” Sam told Scar urgently, his voice low. “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it was useful that first time we ran into Jacob. Now, I can use it to know when Bobby’s paying us any attention at all.”  
  
Scar actually grinned. _That_ was a useful trick against a foe that had so far proven tougher to figure out. It was a shame it didn't sound like a skill that Sam could impart upon the other knights. Even so, it would prove very useful for them, in the long run.  
  
"Some good news, at least," he muttered. He squirmed a little to try to move one wing, and both captives felt a threatening squeeze around them. Bobby didn't even lift them up or say anything. He drove his point home as casually as if he was brushing hair out of his face. All the while, the forest around them became less and less familiar.  
  
Scar hissed in annoyance and pain while the human kept walking. "This sun-hated _sprout_ had better not get used to that," he groused.  
  
Sam grimaced in agreement. He wasn’t as easy to damage as a sprite was, due to his bulkier build. Sprites were lean, made to fly through the air. Sam would be able to stand up to more pressure than Scar. Compared to a full-sized human, not _much_ more, but enough that if Bobby flexed his hand the sprite would be in more danger.  
  
So he focused on _not moving_ for the moment. They needed to save their strength for an opportunity.  
  
“Too bad we have to prove the archives right about humans,” Sam grumbled to himself, disappointed. He’d been so proud of Jacob, and now Dean. _It only takes one_.  
  
Scar heard his comment, but only barely. He kept to himself, but he still couldn't bring himself to discredit the entire species just yet. He'd watched Sam, a human, grow into a compassionate and thoughtful man over the years, and had no doubt that any human had as much capacity for growth and good as he did.  
  
 _Demons_ were a new variable in an equation that no one knew.  
  
At length, the trees thinned out and a starry sky above glittered at them as Bobby carried the two knights of Wellwood farther from home. Scar looked up, admittedly dazed for a moment by the sight that he so rarely got to see. An unhindered view of the sky usually meant danger of a predator spotting them.  
  
They were already in danger. So, he decided to enjoy it until they reached a huge metal beast sitting idly on the grass. "What?!" Scar hissed, but before he could form an actual question for Sam, the hand around them lifted and held them closer to Bobby's chest.  
  
The human opened a door in the side of the metal giant, and after a few lurching movements, opened a strange compartment inside the inner chamber. The grasp around them relented, finally, dropping Sam and Scar on what looked like paper before the box they were in surged upwards and slammed closed.  
  
They were in the dark as a rumble roared to life all around them, as Bobby started his car and began a long trip far away from the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The drama continues!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** February 23rd, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	3. Alone

He was alone.  
  
It didn’t matter that Jacob was standing right next to him, or that Bowman was _in his hand,_ cupped close to his chest with the tiny leaf glider that belonged to Sam.  
  
Once more, Dean had lost his little brother and was alone in the world. No father, a mother long dead, and a little brother lost in a world that was dangerous to his size. The biting loneliness that Dean had allowed himself to think gone for a few blessed hours came rushing back.  
  
Sam, the person Dean had believed dead for over a decade, had resurfaced on his latest case against a demon. He didn’t look anything close to how Dean remembered him aside from a bright smile and fluffy brown hair, but it was _him_. Lean and in shape, a rapier by his side and a knife tucked away in his jacket, he’d stood up to Dean when the hunter had trapped his adopted family in his hands.  
  
Because Sam, and his adopted family, stood no taller than four inches.  
  
A curse had struck the younger brother all those years ago, brought on by a witch. Instead of killing Sam, it had taken away his size and sundered him from his family. Dean and John had given him up for dead after months of desperate chasing after the witch, and Sam had assimilated into a new home.  
  
“Sammy!” Dean called out into the night air, desperately following the motions of the flashlight Jacob held as it danced over their surroundings. Each moment that slipped by without any sign of Sam struck another knife in Dean’s heart.   
  
He’d finally found his brother just in time to fail him all over again.  
  
“Sam!”  
  
Bowman peered over the edge of Dean's hand, his brow pinched with worry. He was missing a brother, too. Adopted, maybe, but his brother all the same. The flashlight skirted over bushes and trees, but illuminated nothing about Sam's whereabouts. He was simply _gone,_ with no sign of where he'd be.  
  
Bowman would be useless flying in the woods to find him. Aside from having to dodge owls and other night predators, he'd never catch sight of Sam in the dark. His eyes were adapted to the bright sunshine of the day.  
  
Jacob said nothing, but his expression spoke of the same worries as Dean and Bowman. Finding Sam out here would be like finding a needle in a haystack blindfolded. If he was hurt and had crawled to some hiding spot, his forest-colored clothes would hide him from their sight exactly as they were meant to.  
  
"M-maybe we should regroup," he suggested softly after the echoes of Dean's last cry faded away. "See if the knights saw anything and ... Dean, you need a hospital."  
  
Dean stared back at Jacob, his mind refusing to admit defeat. Tears of pain mixed with tears of desperation on his cheeks, an emotion rarely seen on him. He'd spent his entire life building up walls around his heart after losing everyone important to him.  
  
Walls that Sam had shattered the moment he reappeared. Right when Dean least expected it, and just in time to go through the shock of losing Sam again.  
  
There wasn't much question that Dean would need a hospital, as much as he refused to admit he needed any help. If the arm started to heal wrong, it could leave him unable to hunt in the future, or at the very least it would need to be rebroken. It was limp at his side, only held up by the makeshift sling Jacob had created. Hopefully that would buy them enough time to find their way back to civilization.  
  
"Sam..." Dean said, terrified of admitting they'd failed. "You... do you think the sprites can send out search parties?" He tried to cling to any hope of finding the tiny swordsman. Dean lifted up the leaf glider, staring at the delicately crafted vehicle. Sam had made it, and with it he could _fly._  
  
Without it he was vulnerable.  
  
Dean's thumb shifted and reverently brushed the edge of a leafy wing, carefully staying away from the small ropes that bound the glider together. "We should bring this back to the village before we go," he said hollowly. "If we leave it out here, we'll never find it again. Sam... Sam deserves better. He’ll want to see it when he gets back."  
  
Bowman glanced over the silhouette of the glider. He was almost seated under it, shielded from view from above. If they left it out here, there was no question it would be crushed by an animal or blown about in a harsh wind.  
  
More than once, he and Sam had been caught by surprise by a storm on their patrols. They'd always had to lash the glider to a tree branch, close to the trunk, and wait underneath it for the winds to pass. Bowman could maneuver through strong winds like no other sprite in Wellwood could, but he wouldn't leave his brother out there for anything.  
  
He didn't want to do the same now, but they needed help looking. The forest was a big place for one patrolsprite to find one flightless knight, even with giants helping.  
  
Bowman tried to smirk. "Scar can organize search parties. Back when Sam first arrived, everyone thought _you_ might be out there sprite-sized, too." He crawled out from under the glider so he could push himself to a shaky stand on Dean's hand with what little room he had. "We can put the glider in the 'garage' and tell them what happened."  
  
Jacob nodded in agreement. He glanced around, sweeping the flashlight across the forest floor, before he found the direction of the village. "There could still be some knights on the lookout, too," he said. "Let's head back in. Could be they already know what's happened."  
  
He wanted to be more hopeful than he sounded, but with the night bearing down on them, it was difficult. Jacob eyed Dean’s arm in its sling, looking swollen and painful and wrong. The same hand gripping the flashlight had somehow done that.  
  
  
“Yeah,” Dean mumbled in return. He blinked at the memory of helping Sam out with the glider in his tiny ‘garage’ in the tree. More than anything, he wished they’d spent more time together before striking out against the demon. Such a short amount of time, gone before they knew it. He had so many questions about Sam’s time in the village, all those blank years of separation that he wanted to fill in.  
  
At least it sounded like Sam had been happy there.  
  
“Maybe someone already found him.” Trying not to shake, Dean lifted up the hand Bowman was standing on. “You… mind telling us where to go? I’m guessin’ you know this forest a hell of a lot better than anyone else around.”  
  
On any other day, Bowman might have smirked confidently and stretched his wings out to boast about how well he knew his forest. As a patrolsprite, he flew among the trees out there every day, and he had indeed learned it as well if not better than the others who patrolled with him. It was a good excuse for flying all the time.  
  
Instead, he nodded soberly and merely rustled his wings to prepare for flight. "Yeah, I know the way," he answered, sidling around the glider a little to hop off of Dean's hand. His wings caught him swiftly and he hovered between the two giant humans before leading the way.  
  
Jacob opted to take up the rear of their little group, since he carried the flashlight. He noticed that Bowman flew relatively low, and paused to look back often. His shape nearly disappeared in the dark at times.  
  
The closer they came to the village, the easier their travels became. Up ahead, small, gently glowing lights guided them unerringly to the cottonwood at the very edge. Jacob realized, as he and Dean finally stepped over the stream with the most cautious moves they could, that the lights were from tiny lanterns made of flower petals.  
  
The porch of the cottonwood was occupied by several sprites, some with swords on their belts and some without. Among them stood Lord Cerul, who wore a deep frown as he beheld the returning group. "News?" he called, unerringly calm despite the fact that Jacob and Bowman both _knew_ he could tell something was horribly amiss.  
  
Dean stared at the strange surroundings, his amazement tempered by the feeling of the tiny glider in his hand. _Sam grew up here. This is what he’s used to._ The sight of the tiny lanterns reminded Dean of the way Rischa had been innocently making flowers glow when he discovered her.  
  
If he hadn’t found her then, would they be in this situation now?  
  
Many of the sprites on the porch had jackets like Sam, so Dean figured they must be other knights. Aside from the gawkers he’d spotted staring at him, he’d only really met Bowman, Rischa and Scar, along with the fluttering kids that had flocked around Sammy. That memory put another ache in his heart.  
  
Dean frowned. “We did away with the threat,” he told the sprites. “Thanks to the knight that spotted him. But…” He lifted up the glider and his throat closed up a little inside. “Sam’s missing, and we don’t know what happened to him.”  
  
Cerul narrowed his tarnished-gold eyes thoughtfully, glancing at the glider resting on Dean's hand. Usually the glider looked much bigger, but seeing it sitting on a single human _hand_ was bizarre. Cerul remembered Sam eagerly stretching his arm over his head when he was just a nestling to explain that his brother was _five and a half feet tall!_  
  
Now, Dean was bigger than that, and nearly drowning in emotions that he clearly had no method of handling. Grief, regret, longing, sadness, worry, and physical pain washed over Cerul like a flash flood, and he took a slow breath to remain calm. Jacob and Bowman harbored similarly dire emotions, but they weren't as intense as the tallest human there.  
  
Cerul glanced over his shoulder to address the other sprites that waited up with him. "Patrolsprites, please spread the word that the threat is gone. Knights, you should find the others flying sentry and bring them in so we can organize a search with Scar."  
  
Bowman sighed, frustrated that they couldn't find a more immediate solution, but as the other sprites fluttered away from the porch to do their duties, he knew there was nothing. They would all work as fast as they could, but Sam would still have a little more waiting time until then.  
  
He drifted to the porch to land on it near Cerul before looking back to Dean and Jacob. "Scar will know what to do."  
  
Dean nodded his head, not trusting himself to talk for a moment. He watched as the sprites fluttered off, all knowing their roles and what they had to do. It made him feel more out of place. With his arm broken, he was _useless_. He couldn’t even help look for his younger brother without risking his arm more.  
  
Slowly the flap of green, leafy wings died off as the sprites all vanished into the trees to round up the others. Dean brushed a thumb over one of the wings of Sam’s glider, finding solace in the absent motion. It gave him something to hold onto, a reminder that Sam was out there, waiting for them. “I should put this back for Sam,” he said at long last. He glanced up at Bowman, wishing his eyes would start cooperating with him and stop threatening tears. “Which… tree was his place in?”  
  
Bowman stared past Dean towards the pine tree where he lived, and where Sam had chosen his own home. No windows were lit by soft lantern glow, and the shapes of the houses on the branches were still and silent in the night. Rischa was probably asleep, waiting for them to come and greet her in the morning.  
  
Sam's home, with its walls covered in writings, was empty tonight.  
  
"You will find him," Cerul muttered quietly. Bowman glanced over his shoulder at the patient, calm noble, before nodding softly and slipping off the porch again to glide past Dean and lead him to Sam's home. Jacob, with his flashlight aimed downwards and the bulky duffel bag on his shoulder, hung back as the mournful feeling still hung in the air.  
  
"It's over here," Bowman called. One of the patrolsprites from before flitted past him to make their rounds letting any worried sprites know what had transpired.  
  
He landed on Sam's porch, with its overarching garage. Shadows clung to it until he muttered a quiet prayer and Sam's lanterns all filled with a quiet, flickering glow. His garage was his workshop, after all, and he needed the most light he could get in there. More than once Sam had dragged Bowman to his house for the prayer, needing light for some late night work.  
  
Dean followed behind, paying close attention to the ground he walked on. There weren’t any children around now that it was nighttime, but an assumption wasn’t worth their life. His boots were an actual danger compared to people that didn’t quite reach as tall as a finger.  
  
The sight of the petal lanterns brought a brief smile to Dean’s face that fled almost instantly. “One day he’ll have to tell me about this place,” Dean said sadly as squatted down to be level with the tiny garage and lifted up the glider. He carefully avoided Bowman as he placed it where Sam had landed earlier that day, and nudged it with a finger so it was facing forward. That tiny little glider was to Sam what the Impala was to Dean, and that’s how Dean would treat it. “Maybe he’ll even get to show me how he made his glider.”  
  
Before pulling his hand out, Dean let a finger run across the walls again, staring at the human-sprite mix of letters that covered it. Sam had adapted to live in a completely different world, and he fit in better than anyone could have imagined. Dean couldn’t imagine living like that, or having a glider to fly. Sam not only had, but he also had a wingsuit and had gone on to become a knight.  
  
Protecting others, just like Dean did what he did to save others.  
  
No matter where the brothers had ended up in their lives, they’d found a way to help people. Dean was proud of his little brother, and always would be. Sam had grown up to be a great man, no matter his size.  
  
Bowman, standing near the opening of the garage, hardly noticed how crowded it had become. With him, the glider, and a giant hand filling up the space, there wouldn't be room to stretch his wings, but he didn't mind that for a moment. He watched as Dean's enormous fingertips brushed reverently over the older inked-in sketches Sam had made, of the earliest prototypes of his glider.  
  
There had been a lot of trial and error before Sam finally ended up with his finished product, but it was well worth all the headaches and frustrations. Bowman was glad he'd never given up on it, because it meant he could fly with his adopted brother.  
  
"He made the glider with a lot of poking at me," Bowman quipped, before hopping from the edge of the porch and flapping his wings to fly straight up and avoid smacking into Dean (again). He hovered there thoughtfully, looking down at the glow spilling out from Sam's garage and onto Dean's face. Then, he glanced upwards, at his darkened home on a branch above.  
  
"When you go to find Sam, I'm gonna go with you," he determined. "Even if it's far away, I'm coming along."  
  
Dean watched Bowman hover, his brow furrowed in concern. “I don’t know how much good I’ll be in a search for Sam, but we’ll do what we can.” He was pained by the thought of Sam out in the forest on his own, curled up in hiding. “I’m too big…”  
  
With the glider parked, Dean touched it gently on the side with his finger one last time. There were leaves bunched up along the side, probably made to block the garage from the rain during a storm. Dean carefully pushed them along so the glider and the garage was hidden from view. “Sam _will_ be back,” he said firmly as he stood, his eyes level with where Bowman was hovering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One Winchester without the other.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** February 26th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	4. A Sword Found

Stepping back from the garage where Sam’s glider would wait hidden among the pine needles, Dean put a hand on the shoulder with the sling. “Once we get this thing taken care of, we should find out what happened to Jacob’s friend, Bobby. Supposedly he’s the last person who might have seen Sam. Maybe he knows what happened.”  
  
Jacob couldn't help but overhear his name, and he glanced over to the two of them in time for Bowman to turn in his direction. The sprite was restless, clearly wanting to see more options than they had available. "I'll call Bobby as soon as I can," Jacob told him quietly.  
  
"Yeah," Bowman answered, nodding thoughtfully. His musings were derailed by the sound of rapidly flapping wings and a voice calling for Lord Cerul. Bowman tensed at the sound, staring into the dark to watch for the source.  
  
Lord Cerul waited patiently on the porch of the cottonwood. A sprite emerged from the dark into the soft glow cast by the lanterns, and swerved hastily around Jacob. It looked like one of the knights that had patrolled earlier. Cerul felt a few hints of hopeful optimism from the others, and his own joined them, until the knight landed and stumbled.  
  
"M-my Lord," the knight greeted, stepping towards the noble slowly.  
  
He was carrying an extra sword.  
  
He held the weapon out to Cerul. Cerul numbly took the hilt in one hand and rested the blade across his other. The weapon was cool and shone brightly, even with blood dried on parts of the blade. Cerul knew without asking that it was Scar's, and he knew from the worry sparking in an alarming pattern around the knight that its owner was nowhere to be found.  
  
Cerul took a slow breath. "Lord Scar is also missing," he declared to the few nearby that could listen.   
  
His eyes remained trained on the blade and he kept up a calm demeanor, though inside he was nearly sick with worry for his friend. It was his burden to wear a calm face when no one else would. Cerul was not allowed to gasp in alarm or dart off to spread the frightening news. He was not allowed to make the incredulous, disbelieving expression that Bowman Leafwing wore.  
  
"This does not change the plans by much, but it does tell us that something else is at work here," he determined. If Scar had simply found Sam injured out there, they would already have word. Something was keeping him from doing what he was best at.  
  
Dean came up next to Jacob, standing awkwardly near the cottonwood tree. “We’ll help,” he decided firmly. “Once I get this arm set and we check on Bobby, we’ll be back. They have to be out there somewhere.” He had to swallow dryly at that. “They _have_ to be, and I doubt there’s something in the forest that could take _both_ of those knights down without someone else noticing _something_.”  
  
He had to cling to that thought. With his normal wall around his emotions shattered and the pain from his arm and the memory of Sam’s gentle hazel eyes keeping him from building up the wall again, Dean needed a liferaft. Something to hold onto and focus his determination on. Without it, he’d be lost and adrift and Sam needed him too much for that.  
  
“Whatever it takes. We’ll find them.” The memory of how confident Sam stood with his sword helped reassure Dean that the tiny swordsman wouldn’t go down without a fight. Scar, too. Dean had been around a lot of hunters all his life. He could recognize a fighter when he saw one, and respect them for it. There was no way those two would go quietly into the night. Dean’s good hand clenched into a fist.  
  
Cerul nodded at the human. He was grateful for both Jacob and Dean's help. Without them, the 'demon' threat would likely have found and overrun the village before they could prepare or make any counter measures. It would have been a massacre.  
  
A throbbing pain in Cerul's arm brought him to the present, and he glanced at Dean's arm. "Yes, about that arm," he said, his brow pinching a little in worry. "It ... needs healing, but we don't have anyone who can set it here," he admitted, knowing the sheer size of the limb made setting it an impossibility for the smaller sprites.  
  
Jacob preempted Bowman's question as the sprite turned to him. "No, I really shouldn't try," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "I'll get him to a hospital and we'll try to think of answers while that's going on."  
  
Cerul nodded. "If you return with the bones set to heal correctly, we'd be more than happy to help then."  
  
“O… kay.” Dean wasn’t sure what they could do for him, but they’d be back in the forest regardless. They’d have to be, if they wanted to help find Sam. His heart twisted at the thought of his tiny brother curled up and afraid in a huge forest.  
  
 _We’ll find him. There’s no way anything could take him and Scar both on without a sign._  
  
Dean glanced over at Jacob. “I hope you know how to get out of the forest,” he said, slightly sheepish. “I was following Bobby’s trail when I got here, but I lost it before I found Rischa.”  
  
Jacob nodded and gave Dean an empty smirk, worry still lingering in his eyes. Worry for Sam, new worry for Scar, and worry for Dean. The guy was sturdy as hell for dealing with that broken arm for this long with relatively few complaints, but the fact remained that it was clearly painful and needed tending to.  
  
Before he could answer, Bowman flitted closer to him. "I know the way even better," he pointed out. "Even in the dark."  
  
Jacob raised an eyebrow at the determined sprite. "You sure you want to go with us? You'll be pretty far from home and you’d have to stay hidden."  
  
Bowman frowned. "Of course. Maybe I'll even see something while we're traveling that you two miss. Who knows? I'm going."  
  
Dean held up a hand to forestall any more argument between Jacob and Bowman. The adrenaline from the fight was beginning to wear off, and the exhaustion was beginning to creep up on him. He wouldn’t be able to stand around, especially not with the distance they were from the Impala. “You can come,” Dean stated firmly. “No one will make you stay behind. If we search for Sam, we’ll do it together. But!” He held up a finger. “Bowman, it’s not safe for you to be seen by anyone aside from me or Jacob, so you need to make sure to do what I say, and _be careful._ ”  
  
Bowman's eyebrows shot up. If Sam were there and they were leaving the forest for another reason, he might have argued just for the sake of it. There was no room for his pride here, and with the dark night looming close on the edge of the lantern glow, Bowman nodded. For wood sprites, who thrived in the sunlight, nighttime had a sobering effect that tempered even Bowman's high-strung attitude.  
  
"Yeah, I'll just stick close to you guys," he promised. "I don't want to deal with any new giants tonight."  
  
Jacob nodded and sighed, resigned to the verdict. "Well, we should probably get going soon." He glanced past Bowman to Cerul, who still stood on the wide balcony with the sword resting in his hands. "We'll keep our eyes open for them while we move." Cerul smiled faintly and inclined his head in response, finding no more words to give them.  
  
“You’re right. It’s time.” Dean took a step back from the cottonwood tree, giving Cerul a respectful nod. They weren’t the only people missing a friend. Sam and Scar both had a place with the sprites. It gave Dean a pang to remember the kids from earlier on in the afternoon, flocking around the small knight while he gave the smallest nestling a piggyback ride.  
  
No matter what it took, they’d bring him back. Him and Scar. Dean refused to allow himself to believe Sam was dead after finally finding him again.  
  
“Lead the way,” Dean told Jacob. He wavered on his feet, and had to focus. If he let himself lose that focus, there was a chance he’d collapse. This far in the forest, that could be devastating. Jacob couldn’t carry Dean miles on his back to get to the road.  
  
Bowman darted past Jacob to get him started in the right direction, before flying back to the two humans. He wouldn't risk flying out too far ahead of them. An owl could still make an attempt at him, and their silent wings and powerful talons wouldn't give him a chance. He was too tired to pay the full attention he might normally give.  
  
Once the lantern light was behind them and Jacob's flashlight was their only guide, Bowman hovered closer to him. He glanced back and saw Dean's wavering walk, and meandered through the air towards him. "Don't fall asleep out here. Squirrels will steal from your pockets," he quipped. Pockets that would fit a sprite, he realized belatedly.  
  
It brought the memory of pointing excitedly at Sam's various pockets, wanting to know what they contained. The very first day Sam came to the forest, Bowman had been intrigued by him. He'd had no idea the boy with no wings would become his family.  
  
Instead of flying along on wings that grew more and more tired the longer he flew without sunlight, Bowman took his spot on Dean's shoulder again. He may have only met the man today, but he'd considered Dean part of his family for a long time, thanks to Sam. "I'll make sure you stay awake," he quipped, nudging at the human's neck with the edge of his wing.  
  
Dean tried to hold himself motionless at the small nudge. It was almost ticklish, and probably one of the stranger feelings he’d ever had against his neck. “That’s probably a good plan,” he admitted. He didn’t bother deceiving himself. After the fight and Sam’s disappearance, he was _exhausted_.  
  
He would make it, though. There was enough determination stored in him to get back to his car. He wouldn’t be able to help Sam if he didn’t help himself, after all.  
  
To pass the time, he tried to focus on the strange feeling of Bowman on his shoulder. It wasn’t as odd as when Sam had landed on his head earlier on that day, but it was still something that would take getting used to. It was hard to believe that the tiny shifts and nudges were from an entire _person,_ just chilling there. One that had grown up with Sam all the years Dean had thought him dead.  
  
“What was it like, growing up with Sam?” Dean blurted out. He couldn’t contain his curiosity, and there was a long walk back.  
  
Bowman smirked faintly, remembering his upbringing with Sam around. Ahead, Jacob turned his head slightly to listen in, harboring his own curiosity that he hadn't had enough time to get to in the short time he'd known about the sprites. Bowman was suddenly a center of attention. He absently massaged his sore knees and came up with an answer.  
  
"He was a lot bigger than me from the start, since I was still just a nestling. We ended up exploring a lot, I think he liked to see a lot of the village." He thought back on the days when he'd excitedly lead Sam around by the hand while his little wings fluttered. There was always a melancholy behind Sam's awe, and it had taken Bowman a little while to realize why.  
  
Bowman smirked. "He's the only one around without wings in the way so he introduced us all to _piggyback_ rides, as he calls them."  
  
That brought a smile to Dean’s face as he remembered the years growing up with Sam. “He did?” He laughed slightly. “Man, when he was little he always used to ask for piggyback rides. He was such a scrawny kid growing up.”   
  
Dean held out his hand to approximate how tall Sam used to be before the curse, then hesitated. “Well, I guess he’s smaller _now,_ ” Dean admitted mulishly, remembering just how light Sam _was_ in his hand. Or standing on his head with the glider attached. “That’s going to take some getting used to, but hey. I’ll take it. Things haven’t been the same since we lost him. Even dad…” He cut himself off. Some things just weren’t worth bringing up with people he’d just met. It would only make them pity him, and that was the last thing he wanted.   
  
“Things just haven’t been the same,” Dean finished simply.  
  
Bowman didn't pry. He had a decent sense of when to leave a question unasked, despite what his curious nature might suggest. He had his own memories that he'd prefer to keep tucked away, and in that regard he and Dean had another thing in common.  
  
Instead, he tried to bring the focus back away from something so sensitive by continuing. "He was always looking out for me growing up. And he always had stories about human stuff. He even showed me your letters. Always kinda thought they were way too blocky, but I guess everything is rectangles with humans, so..." He shrugged.  
  
Jacob, unable to avoid overhearing, chuckled. "I didn't even notice that until Bowman ranted about it my first time out here."  
  
Bowman rustled his wings pointedly. "Well, it's true. Sharp angles, _everywhere_." He shook his head and went on, still caught up in memories. "You shoulda seen his face the day he came home and said Lord Scar had taken him on as a knight in training. _That_ came out of nowhere for everyone."  
  
“Yeah?” Dean couldn’t hold in a smile. The sight of Sam, so proud in his knight’s uniform, was one to cherish. The rapier at his side didn't even look out of place with the way he carried it. He wore it like he knew what he was doing. “He paid close attention when I showed him how to use his knife. He always fought back against dad about the weapons we had to keep, especially once he had a gun to stick under his pillow. But the knife… _that_ he knew how to use.”  
  
For a moment, he let himself drift. Remembering that night Sam had confronted him about what their dad did… that was the entire reason Dean had decided to make his younger brother a weapon of his own. Not some random piece of hardware their dad picked up at a pawn shop, but a weapon that had a story of its own. A story that was important to Sam. He knew it was the way to get through to him, and it had worked. Sam was determined afterwards to not let his big brother down, and had kept it by his side ever since.  
  
Even all these years later, standing so much smaller than the knife once was, Sam had it at the ready. Holding it out to Dean with his adopted family trapped right under his boots, trusting his older brother to recognize it for what it was.  
  
Trusting Dean to not snatch at him too.  
  
Dean sighed, his eyes flashing to his shoulder to see where Bowman was. “All these years I thought Sam was gone, but he was here. Becoming a man to be proud of.” He closed his good hand into a fist and let it drop by his side. “I hope I get the chance to tell him…”  
  
"You will," Bowman assured him. He had to keep his voice confident to convince himself as much as anyone else. Bowman didn't know what might have happened, but he refused to let himself think of anything other than their success. They _had_ to find Sam.  
  
It couldn't turn into the search for Dean so many years ago, with everyone sadly giving up. It _wouldn't,_ if Bowman had to comb the forest himself.  
  
"You'll get to tell him right after I bop him for disappearing on me like this," he continued, patting a hand on Dean's shoulder. He had no idea if Dean even felt the gesture through the strange, thick material of his jacket, but he hoped that maybe the human heard it instead.  
  
Dean let his head drop down, following after Jacob’s trudging footsteps. He appreciated Bowman’s confidence, but his own confidence level was closer to his boots as they crunched through the thick underbrush. He could remember a few close calls earlier that day with hidden rocks, and tried to concentrate on where he was going.  
  
At least it was better than mulling over what was happening with Sam.  
  
“We’ll find him,” Dean said to himself, trying to bolster his hopes. “Just gotta find a hospital first, then find out what happened to Bobby. After that, it’s all Sam.”  
  
"That's ... that's right," Bowman answered, his brow knitting with worry. He could hear the unmistakable tone in Dean's voice, but he didn't need to. He was sitting on Dean's shoulder, so he could tell when they slumped in his exhaustion and worry. Dean had been on his own for so long, unlike Sam. Neither of them had known if the other was alive all this time, but at least Sam had people around him to take care of him.  
  
"We're almost to the fence, then it's an easier walk to the main campground," Jacob pointed out. The flashlight swept from side to side and the leaves and twigs crunched under his boots.  
  
A thought occurred to him and he glanced back at Dean. "What'd you wanna do about transportation? You're not driving with your arm in that condition."  
  
Dean shook his head in denial before he remembered Bowman was sitting on his shoulder. “Shit, sorry.”  
  
Bowman’s wings stretched out for balance before he situated himself again. “Don’t worry about it,” he muttered, trying to hide the surprise in his voice.  
  
This was going to take some getting used to for both of them. Dean had never expected to have actual _people_ on his shoulder or his head.  
  
“I can’t leave my car here,” Dean tried to explain, just imagining what would happen if the police investigating the attack came across the sleek Impala parked on its own. “There’s a few… things I can’t afford the police taking a close look at.” The weapons hidden under the false bottom of the trunk alone would drop him in jail, considering they weren’t the most… legal. Add to that the fact that he was a man who was supposedly dead, and wanted for murder in St. Louis, and he’d be screwed. “I won’t be much use to anyone if they do.”  
  
Jacob paused and glanced ahead to make sure he wasn't about to walk into anything. His gait slowed down as they considered the options, and only one presented itself to him if Dean wasn't going to leave his car. "I can drive it, then," he offered, knowing exactly how some people felt about others driving their car.  
  
Before Dean could get a retort out, Jacob reinforced his argument with "I _can_ just leave my car sitting around, since it's kind of a clunker and it has a pass on it for extended stays at the campgrounds anyway. You need to take it easy on that arm and there's no way you can shift gears with it like that right now." Jacob knew all too well what condition Dean's arm was in. He'd been the one to break it, felt the bones fracturing in his own hand.  
  
Dean’s lips thinned, hating that Jacob was right. He _couldn’t_ drive. His dominant arm was completely unusable, and barely set. The gear shift for the car was on the right side of the steering wheel, so changing that would be out of reach.  
  
Shifting, he stuck his hand in his pocket, rifling around for the set of keys. “If you put a _scratch_ on her…” Dean warned as he held them out. He’d poured his heart into that car. Jacob wouldn’t be using her without Dean watching his every move.  
  
The edge of his lips quirked up in a smile. “Then I’ll let Bowman make good on his threats to bop you,” Dean finished, remembering the earlier arguments when Bowman was being teased.  
  
Jacob suppressed a laugh as he paused to take the keys in his hand. Bowman didn't bother to hold back his snickering, and they both knew that Bowman would not mind the opportunity at all. He threatened Jacob with bops all the time. "I'll keep that in mind," Jacob answered while he slipped the keys into his hoodie pocket for safekeeping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Events grow more dire in Wellwood, but Dean's not going to be any use to anyone if he doesn't get that broken arm set!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** March 1st, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	5. Off to the Hospital

Banter aside, the trip was laced with tension as they made their way through the dark forest. Owls hooted in the darkness, and bats squeaked high overhead as they wheeled around looking for insects. The trees rustled in the night breeze, unseen by the three unless Jacob's light swept over it. Bowman was glad to have a perch. Even the nighttime predators wouldn't mess with a couple of giants.  
  
Eventually, Jacob could make out the faintest orange glow of a campfire here and there. Soft voices drifted in the air as the last few campers left awake chatted in their tents or asked each other where to find a bucket to put out their fires.  
  
"Bowman, stay hidden," Jacob warned as he led them in an arc around the area. "Just in case someone's walking around. Dean, is your car parked close to the others or...?"  
  
“It’s uh…” Dean waved his hand towards the cars, and felt himself waver on his feet as the world spun around him. The exhaustion from the case, being out so early in the morning and not stopping to rest for about the entire day, never mind the actual _broken arm,_ all came rushing down on him at once. He covered his face with his hand, concentrating on his footing and trying to force the world to make _sense_ again. This wasn’t his first injury. He couldn’t collapse so close to the goal.  
  
The dizzy spell passed, and he did what he could to focus on Jacob’s question. “I’m parked in the back, away from the other cars. Didn’t… didn’t want anyone messin’ with the Impala while I’m out trekkin’ through the backend of nowhere…”  
  
Jacob nodded, leading them along at the best pace he could. On one hand, he didn't want to make Dean walk around so much any more than he had to. On the other, he couldn't rush him, especially if he was getting dizzy. Hopefully Bowman would keep up his task of keeping Dean awake while they walked.  
  
Luckily, he didn't have to ask which car was Dean's, when they finally reached the general area. There weren't many, and only one sat as far back as Dean described.  
  
There was no mistaking this car for some camping trip family car, despite its size. It was gleaming in the dark even before Jacob's flashlight beam swept over it, black-and-chrome finish reflecting the moon and stars from above. Jacob let out an appreciative breath at the sight of the huge car. About a foot or two longer than his own, somehow it conveyed a lot more size and ferocity. It looked like it could practically rear up and fight as much as Dean did.  
  
Bowman had his own appreciation for the car, but his eyes were wide for entirely different reasons. He also looked behind them at the other vehicles, the arrangement of tents, everything about the human campsite that he could see. "This is what a car looks like?" he muttered, barely refraining from swooping off Dean's shoulder to circle the big, shiny black beast. "And you're sure it's safe?"  
  
“This is what _my_ car looks like,” Dean said with a hint of pride lurking in his voice. He finally managed to amble up to his baby and leaned on her, one hand stretched out over the roof to let the world stop spinning around him. This, more than anywhere else, was _home,_ and that helped anchor him. “Damn it’s good to see you, baby.”  
  
When he was finally able to stand without help, he pushed himself away from the car. “The Impala is one of the safest places you can find,” he bragged to the air, brushing the chrome frame with a hand. “You won’t have to worry about a thing once we’re in. She's been mine ever since I was sixteen, and Sam and I grew up inside. This car’s been in the family since before I was _born_ , and she’ll never let me down.”  
  
To his surprise, he found himself telling them more than he might normally reveal, but brushed that off. Bowman was family, after all. He had a right to know about their lives more than anyone else. He’d grown up with Sam by his side, just like Dean. It might take getting used to, but Dean wouldn’t turn family away.  
  
Bowman nodded along, still staring at the car with curiosity in every one of his few inches. Jacob walked around to the other side of it while Dean waited, and before Bowman could ask what he was doing, there was a faint jingle of metal and a noticeable click from the car itself. Bowman watched with a shocked look as Dean opened up a panel of metal bigger than several sprite homes to admit himself to the inner chamber of the car.  
  
Bowman slipped off Dean's shoulder and caught himself on quiet wings, gliding into the interior of the car. Despite his worry, curiosity filled him from wingtip to wingtip. He landed on the back of the wide seat to stare up at the ceiling, then flew across to a surface underneath a wide glass window.  
  
"More corners and squares in here, of _course,_ " he commented. He saw Jacob settling down in front of a wide round hoop, and inched closer to stare at the thing. "Is Impala her name? I thought cars were _machines,_ " he asked, pausing to cross his arms at Jacob accusingly.  
  
Jacob smiled faintly. "It's just ... it's a human thing, to refer to some vehicles as 'she’," he explained. Bowman's face looked remarkably scolding in the dark.  
  
“Impala is a _type_ of car,” Dean said as he leaned in to see the sprite. “There’s a lot of different cars.” Once he knew he was clear, he sat heavily in the seat and let out a sigh of relief to be off his feet. Even sitting still, his arm pained him and would serve to keep him from sleep.  
  
His eyelids fluttered and he realized that it might not even be enough now that he was on the edge of exhaustion. It took force to keep his eyes open, focusing on the strange sight of a tiny person crouched on the dashboard. It was unavoidably fascinating, especially the way those leafy green wings looked, shifting and twitching and just as expressive as Bowman’s tiny face. Dean had to wonder if he’d be just as fascinated by Sam after they got him back. Imagining the tiny knight exploring the car was enough to tease Dean’s mouth with a hidden smile that fled before it appeared. They’d give Sam that chance, no matter what. He was out there, in hiding. Waiting for help the way someone should if they got lost.  
  
“Just treat her right, and she’ll do the same right back,” Dean mumbled in Bowman’s general direction. He let himself sink into the leather seat, barely clinging to consciousness. “So not a scratch. Trust me, I’ll _know_.” The last part was directed towards Jacob through half-lidded eyes.  
  
"Dude, I got this," Jacob answered back gently, trying to placate the worn, injured hunter. Bowman watched them both before glancing around at the interior of the car some more. Every part of it was beyond what his world had prepared him for. Jacob noted that even Bowman's usual levels of snark were subdued.  
  
Then again, that could be due to Sam's unknown status.  
  
Jacob pursed his lips, newly focused on their real goal out there. They needed to get Dean fixed up and ready to help with tracking down Sam and Scar. He was a _hunter._ He should be able to provide at least some insight on the matter, and they’d all seen how determined he could be. But right now he was hurt and tired and emotionally drained, and if they didn't get him help, he would be of no use to anyone.  
  
Jacob gripped the key and shoved it into the ignition, starting the Impala with a loud, rumbling roar that spoke of lots of care given to the engine. Jacob wouldn't be surprised if it was in better shape than when the Chevy techs inspected it after it rolled off the line.  
  
Bowman was not so appreciative of the sound. His wings flared up in alarm and he scrambled off the dash, flapping his wings rapidly to get himself across to the back of the bench seat. He nearly tumbled himself right over it to the backseat, but managed to catch himself just in time, wings still partially open. "You made her mad poking with that little metal bit."  
  
Even deep levels of exhaustion and worry couldn’t keep Dean from laughing at _that_ one. Or maybe that was precisely _why_ he laughed so hard. It was a much needed stress reliever after a day of having his world shattered in different ways. Finding Sam and discovering there was an entire _family_ out in the forest that had practically adopted Dean before he ever knew they existed, fighting the demon wearing Jacob’s face and getting his arm broken …  
  
Losing Sam all over again.  
  
For a moment all of that fled at the sight of Bowman almost tumbling off the side of the seat. “Dude, cars don’t get _mad_ at that,” Dean chuckled, shifting so he could watch the sprite with curious eyes. “That’s her _key_. You put it in and it turns the engine on.”  
  
Bowman frowned when he realized that _both_ humans were laughing at him. Even Jacob paused what he was doing to glance aside at his displayed wings, so Bowman folded them with a huff and sat himself down on the back of the seat with his arms crossed. "Well ... it _sounded_ like a growl," he defended himself. "Right under my boots, thank you _very_ much for the warning, Jacob."  
  
Jacob let out his chuckles. "Yeah, you're right," he admitted. "I shoulda let you know. Like now, I'm going to make the Impala move. Cars can go pretty fast, and since it's dark, I need to watch in front." He pointed out the windshield. "No flying in front of me or I could get in a wreck and Dean would kick my ass."  
  
Bowman watched Jacob curiously as he shifted one of his feet and then moved a lever near the steering wheel, and then suddenly the entire car jolted to life. Bowman's wings flared open again and promptly settled down on his perch, acting to help balance him.  
  
Dean continued to stare at the wings as Jacob pulled the car out of the camping grounds parking lot. Watching them shift to keep balance as Jacob turned onto the road was mesmerizing. They were like little bat-wings or dragon-wings. Dean found himself deciding internally that they were closer to dragon wings. _Way more badass_. Bats were more fluffy than dangerous.  
  
Those wings reminded Dean of the wingsuit Sam had been wearing. “Did Sam make that suit he uses to glide with so he could keep up with you?” Dean asked while the car cut effortlessly through the dark night. The distraction kept him from being a backseat driver, for Jacob’s sake. Considering the teenager was currently in charge of the car he’d put his blood, sweat and tears into for his entire life, he tended to be as protective of her as anything else in his life.  
  
Bowman grinned proudly. His pride was for himself, but also largely for Sam. No one would have thought a kid with no wings could have followed a sprite into the sky, but Sam had done it. He kept pace with Bowman pretty well, too. "That and his glider," he answered. "The suit is a fallback in case something happens to the glider and I can't get to it."  
  
He tried to turn himself on his perch, his wings shifting and curling slightly to try to keep some kind of grasp on his seat. "We work together a lot when he's flying, since he can't turn as fast as me. I use the handles on the top to help him if he needs it and I can feel shifts in air pressure with my wings, so I can guide him to better updrafts." Bowman sighed, glancing out the front window as the car picked up some speed. Jacob maneuvered it fluidly through the night, the bright beams of light in front cutting through the dark.  
  
"I was really glad when Sam finally finished his glider and could come flying with me for real," Bowman said, quieter. "We're gonna have to show you our moves once we find him."  
  
“You'll have to show me _everything,_ ” Dean agreed, remembering the shocks he'd already had with the glider and the wingsuit. Sam landing on his head, jumping carelessly off a hand from feet up in the air…  
  
Effecting a pinpoint landing on Jacob's _knee._  
  
“I can't wait for Sam to show me how he designed his glider,” Dean went on, his eyes flashing with curiosity. “That thing is _badass_.” The taste he'd gotten while helping Sam out earlier in the day hadn't been enough. He wanted to know _more_. How it was designed, all the prototypes Dean had seen sketched out on the garage walls. “Who knows. I might be a little too big to help out, but I might be able to streamline the design a little. I've been designing weapons and fixing cars long before Sam vanished.”  
  
Bowman tilted his head, intrigued. He might not know a thing about the car that carried them away from the forest as they spoke, but he knew plenty about flying. It occupied almost every waking thought, at least in the background. He could not imagine being unable to fly, and thought that it was no wonder he was so restless when he was a nestling.  
  
"Well, maybe," he said. "The shape is already based off a sprite's wings."  
  
" _Your_ wings, right?" Jacob cut in, glancing aside for only a second before returning his eyes to the road. He was extra conscious of his driving, with the protective owner of the car right there.  
  
"I was getting to that," Bowman shot back. "He used to drag me into his workshop and have me just spread out a wing," he opened up a wing like he was resting it across a workbench to demonstrate. "Poked and prodded at it, inked out some notes, then poked it some more. Maybe you could add to the design _without_ all the poking."  
  
“Maybe,” Dean said, his voice growing quieter as his mind began to drift. He couldn’t help but admit to himself that he wouldn’t mind a look at Bowman’s wings himself if he got the chance. How often did someone with bonafide _dragon wings_ show up and decide you’re part of their family? And the sprite was a fast little flier. No wonder Sam had taken the chance to base his glider off those wings.  
  
At first, Dean didn’t even notice when his eyes fluttered closed completely. He was leaning on his side in the seat so he could talk to Bowman. This was normally an awkward position but it kept his broken arm well away from brushing against the door or the seat. “You’ll have to give me a tour of your home,” Dean said with a yawn as his mind faded away.  
  
Bowman's eyebrows arched. Before he even had time to consider an answer, Dean drifted into sleep. The human barely had a chance to finish his suggestion before exhaustion finally claimed him. Bowman glanced at Dean's arm in its sling. It didn't take much to figure out why Dean was so tired. Dealing with that much pain took it out of a body.  
  
Instead, he looked over to Jacob. "He's sleeping. Think he'll be alright?"  
  
Jacob smiled faintly and kept his eyes on the road. "Yeah, he'll be fine. He's had a lot happen today."  
  
Bowman nodded and looked down at his legs and the way they barely reached over the curve of the huge bench seat. "Yeah, big day," he agreed quietly. His decision to leave the forest had come so abruptly. He realized with a heavy guilt that he hadn't even told Candara or Larxe what was going on.  
  
After a few more minutes of no sound but the road beneath the Impala's tires and Dean's slow breathing, Jacob spoke up again. "And ... you're doing fine, right, Bowman? I, um..." _I squeezed you pretty hard back there._  
  
Bowman shrugged. "My legs hurt but they're just bruised. That demon was taking its time I guess."  
  
Jacob sighed and nodded. He could still remember the entire fight, thanks to the demon taunting him with it. Making him watch his own hands hurt his friends.  
  
That demon had _wanted_ him to crush Bowman out of existence. Jacob still felt the remnants of the headache that had caused. Fighting it seemed to do nothing. It was only the exorcism that saved Bowman back there.  
  
"We'll have to fix the mess it made, one step at a time," he determined, while the Impala drove on towards a hospital for her owner.  
  


* * *

  
When Jacob finally found a parking spot in the lot near the emergency room doors, he let the Impala idle while he took stock of everything. Bowman was down on the seat, having become too tired to balance up on the back. He looked extra small there, with two humans on either side, but he didn't seem to mind. He was squinting in the light from the huge red and white _Emergency_ sign barely thirty feet away from the car.  
  
"Bowman, you're gonna need to stay in here, I think," Jacob decided. "It's too likely they'll see you in there and we don't want that kinda trouble."  
  
Bowman glanced around the interior of the car and frowned. "Fine, I suppose," he grumbled, his wings twitching half-heartedly. Being awake for so long after sundown was wearing him out. "But you better make sure they hurry."  
  
"I will," Jacob assured him with a small smile, before finally looking over at Dean. "Hey ... Dean," he said, wary of reaching out in case Dean had a startle reaction. "Dude, we're here. Time to get your arm fixed."  
  
“Hmm, whu...?” Dean heard his name and managed to crack his eyes open. “Awesome, it wasn't a dream,” he muttered to himself as his eyes landed on the sprite sitting down on the seat. That had to be one of the stranger sights of his life, right in his car. Sitting not far from him, as a matter of fact.  
  
Dean's mind slowly started to catch up with the rest of the sights outside and it filtered into his mind that they'd reached the emergency room. “Great,” he muttered as he sat back up, pinching his nose between two fingers. “My favorite place.”  
  
The arm burned with pain even with that small shift and he hissed with pain. “Can't wait to just get it all over with. I _hate_ broken bones.”  
  
"They pretty much suck," Jacob agreed. At least, thanks to being in a smaller town, the hospital wasn't flooded with emergency patients, especially at this time of night. They could probably get in and out of there before the sun even thought of rising in the morning, if enough people were on staff.  
  
"Let's get it over with. See if they'll give you something for the pain, too."  
  
Bowman stood on the seat and stretched his arms over his head while his wings spread out to the sides. "Get that bone set, Dean. When we get back sometime Cerul and Rischa can do the healing touch for it."  
  
Dean pushed himself up. “Right…” He trailed off as the words sunk into his head, realizing that he wasn’t quite sure _what_ Bowman was talking about.  
  
At the rate he was going, Dean might end up needing a translator for some of the things the sprites said that sounded common place. He wondered if he’d need a translator for Sam, too, or if his little brother remembered what was normal for humans and what was normal for sprites.  
  
“Wait, what? What the hell's the ‘healing touch?’ ”  
  
Bowman looked up in surprise to find both humans looking at him curiously, and realized his mistake. Of course they didn't know what the healing touch was. They didn't Pray to the Spirit. Bowman remembered learning from Sam that humans didn't even know what the Spirits were, at least in relation to the sprites.  
  
"It's a Prayer," he explained, thinking back to what Sam had asked way back when. Now, Sam understood all of it as well as any resident of Wellwood. But at one point, he'd been as in the dark as Dean and Jacob.  
  
"Basically we borrow magic. Rischa and Cerul are the best at it because they have a stronger connection to the Spirit ..." he trailed off, realizing there was a bit more nuance to the explanation than he'd given it. "The Spirits made the sprites. Ours is the Lady of Life, so a good connection to Her lets some perform the healing touch Prayer and it just ... heals things faster."  
  
“Ah… okay,” Dean said in reply, still confused about the entire thing. And more than a little shocked to hear that _Rischa_ , the tiny little sprite girl he’d found in the forest was one of the strongest. She had been innocently making the flowers glow when he’d found her, snatching her from the ground inside of a fist. His first reaction at seeing what he’d grabbed was shock, and then worry. Supernatural or not, he’d never hurt a _kid,_ especially such an innocent one like her. “First time I heard of magic like that. You’ll have to fill me in more later… when we have more time.”  
  
It took a moment of fumbling for the door handle, but Dean managed to get it open. Having his right arm out of commission made _everything_ frustratingly difficult, even opening a stupid car door. “Don’t let anyone see you,” Dean shot over his shoulder with a look of caution for Bowman. “I’ll be out of this place as soon as possible.”  
  
"I definitely won't," Bowman boasted with his usual confidence in his ability to hide. Even so, once the huge metal doors closed with twin slams that rang in his ears, he felt odd. There was no green in the car, save for Bowman himself. His camouflage was suited for a canopy of leaves high above the ground. Now, he felt so low and unable to hide himself effectively. It was eerie, and the humans were already walking away from him. Their looming shadows vanished into the night.  
  
Bowman suppressed a shudder, one that came from his deep-seated instincts. Instincts that kept prey creatures like himself alive by telling him to always be on the lookout for a predator. Even knowing he was alone in the car couldn't stop them.  
  
"Oh, blast it to ashes," he muttered, stalking towards the edge of the seat. With a hop and a quiet rustle of his wings, Bowman made his way to the floor of the Impala, and huddled down just beneath the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta get Dean taken care of so they can start searching for Sam and Scar!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** March 4th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	6. Heavy on the Anesthetic

Before they reached the sliding emergency room doors, Jacob paused to glance at Dean. "It's actually a pretty neat system they have, borrowing magic like that. It's how Rischa made those flowers glow."   
  
Dean nodded. “She was telling me about it. I mean, we didn’t have much time before you showed up.” He winced as he remembered _that._ His first reaction to a stranger in the woods, especially with a tiny, vulnerable girl in his hand was to close those hands up. It was to protect her, but it also trapped her, taking her out of the conversation. “She said she was just playing when she lit those up.”  
  
They stepped over the threshold of the hospital, and were bathed in the bright lights inside. “She had a path leading _right to her,_ ,” Dean said, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing Bobby didn’t stumble on the sprites sooner. They’re pretty innocent little guys, as far as anything supernatural goes.”  
  
"They really are," Jacob agreed. "That's why I was kinda ... leery, when we first met." He offered a sheepish grin. He didn't realize who he was talking to when he'd found Dean. All he could see was a man who clearly had a sprite trapped in his hands. He couldn't bring himself to regret bristling as much as he had; if Dean had turned out to be a threat, Jacob was ready to help the sprites the best he could.  
  
Before he could say more, they'd reached the desk. He'd barely opened his mouth before the nurse there looked them over with some concern and tapped a box on the counter with crisp white forms. "Please fill one of these out and we'll get to you as soon as we can, alright?"  
  
"Thanks," Jacob answered, a little thrown off guard. He grabbed one form and one of the spare, worn out clipboards next to the box. Once he picked up a pen, he glanced back at Dean. "I'll ... I'll just fill this out for you since writing's probably a bitch like that."  
  
“That's right.” Dean eyed up the paperwork with a suspicious look while he dug in his back pocket. He was always suspicious of the way hospitals were with injuries. If Jacob wasn't around, filling out that form would be arduous and just a step away from actual torture.   
  
The black leather wallet he freed from his pocket was well worn, and contained more than one form of identification. Most of them with varying identities, depending on the job he was on. John Winchester had made sure that Dean knew to keep a faked health insurance card on him, one that linked to his father's.  
  
Dean had tried, back when John first vanished, to see if an ‘Elroy McGillicutty’ had checked into a hospital, but no dice.  
  
“Use this to fill it out,” Dean said as he handed off the card, taking a heavy seat in the waiting room.  
  
"Sure ... thing," Jacob answered, pausing when he glanced at the name on the card. _Larry McGillicutty._ It was the third name Jacob had gotten for Dean, and he had a sudden feeling he'd only seen the tip of that particular iceberg. He chose not to comment on it and sat down to fill out the form with information from the card.  
  
He couldn't stop a guilty, sideways glance when he reached a section headed **Cause of Injury**. Jacob had crushed Dean's arm in his own hand, but he couldn't put that on the form. Hopefully there weren't bruises in the perfect shape of his hand; it would raise complications that they didn't need, and that Sam and Scar couldn't afford.  
  
He ended up writing _camping accident_ in scrawled handwriting and moving on with the rest of the form. A nurse making rounds through the room to check the few others waiting took the form when she saw him finish it up.  
  
He handed the fake insurance card back to Dean. "So, _Larry,_ how're you holding up?"  
  
“Oh, I’m just _awesome,_ ” Dean said dryly as he took back the card and tucked it away. “Peachy. Like a million bucks. We should just blow this joint and hit the nearest bar. I’ll teach you a trick or two and we’ll find some barflies to hit on.” He grimaced. “How do you _think_ I feel? My brother’s missing and I have to waste my time here getting my arm set.”  
  
Dean didn’t blame Jacob for the injury, but he hated that they were wasting time on _him_ while Sam could possibly be out in the forest on his own. He knew it was best they had, the arm hurt enough that it clearly wasn’t setting right. If they left it, he would heal wrong. Not to mention Sam was _tiny_ , all it would take was either human taking one wrong step to maim or kill him. He could hide under a leaf; them bumbling around in the dark trying to find him had done no one any good.  
  
Jacob nodded slowly and sat back in his chair while they waited. His lighthearted attempt to check in on Dean's status had certainly sprung back at him, but then again he couldn't really say he didn't have it coming. Just about every problem Dean listed off could have been avoided if Jacob had been smarter about things.  
  
He looked down at his hands absently, brushing a thumb over a long, thin scar that had formed on one of them. Sam had done that without even hesitating. He'd always presented himself as a very skilled fighter, regardless of size. He was badass, to put it simply.  
  
"I guess this doesn't mean much, coming from a stranger and all," Jacob began, his voice hushed despite the almost deserted ER, "but Sam's not as helpless as his size might make him seem. I bet if you ask Bowman, they've gotten caught out at night before. Sam's tough. He knows what he's doing."  
  
The worry lines didn’t fade from Dean’s face, but he nodded in understanding. Despite being surrounded by humans that towered over him, Sam had displayed nothing but confidence. Even when he’d stood on the back of Dean’s hand with no way of knowing if he was about to get snatched up just like Bowman and Rischa had been before him. A confidence like that came with complete assurance in his abilities, like Dean and his Colt.  
  
“I know he is,” Dean sighed. “He’d have to be after what he’s been through. I just wish I didn’t feel so damn helpless here. Until today I thought he was _dead,_ and now that I _finally_ found him again, I lose him. Just like that.”  
  
Jacob knew the feeling all too well. Helpless, unable to do anything to change what happened. He probably understood that better than he'd ever let on. He shrugged. "I mean, maybe you're not out there right this instant looking, but you're getting yourself ready to do that. That _counts,_ Dean. Trust me. Just one step of a few, that's all."  
  
"Larry McGillicutty?" a voice from near the desk called out. Jacob almost didn't recognize it as the fake name he'd put on Dean's form.  
  
"Guess you're up.”  
  
Dean didn’t have much of a comeback for Jacob’s words, knowing how true they were. He was no good to anyone if he just pushed himself until he collapsed.  
  
He was unsteady on his feet as he walked to the desk, most of his customary swagger gone. He could only hope that his trip to the emergency room was fast. Not only was Sam and Scar missing, Bowman was also out on his own. He was far safer hiding in the Impala herself, but he was still vulnerable without Jacob or Dean around. There was more than one person who’d grab him up if they saw him sitting out in a car.  
  
One more reason to get it over with.  
  
“I’m Larry,” Dean said as he finally reached the counter, trying his best not to sway.  
  
The nurse glanced down at the form on the clipboard she wielded, and tutted at the information there before focusing on "Larry" once more. "Looks like you had a close call there, Mr. McGillicutty," she said, weary sympathy in her voice. "Glad you made it to us so fast. Follow me."  
  
She led Dean into a hallway, her practical white shoes tapping lightly on the linoleum while every surface gleamed under the sterile, fluorescent lights. The small examination room she led him to contained a workbench, a chrome rolling cart laden with bandages and rolls of plaster, and an upright chair all stuffed claustrophobically into the space together.  
  
A doctor with lines under his eyes that seemed permanent inclined his head. "What have we got, Candace?" he asked.  
  
"Mr. McGillicutty has a closed fracture in his right forearm," the nurse explained, while she made her way to the cart in the room and began unwrapping rolls of bandages and plaster for them to use.  
  
"We'll need to set that," the doctor determined. "I think a splint will do, since the skin isn't broken, sir, if you'd like to have a seat..."   
  
Dean followed the doctor’s direction, eyeing up the gleaming equipment in the room with envy in his eyes. More than once he’d had to stitch himself up with whiskey and dental floss for lack of better supplies. Minty fresh stitches weren’t the best way to go, but they worked in a pinch.  
  
Putting them in on his own was probably the worst part.  
  
“So, doc, you think this will take long?” Dean asked, unable to help himself. Every second he was stuck here he could feel his brother slipping away from him.   
  
The doctor shook his head, examining the crooked shape of Dean’s arm without putting his hands on it for the moment. "I don't think so. It's when the bone breaks the skin that you have trouble, but I think in your case we can splint it up and you'll be fine. _If_ you take it easy."  
  
The nurse finished preparing the supplies on the cart and wheeled it awkwardly around the chair to set it up near the doctor. "We can give you something for the pain, if you'd like. Your insurance would cover it, if that's a concern."  
  
Dean gave a half shrug. “I won’t say no to the good stuff,” he told her with a cocky grin. It was fleeting at the pain from his arm. He _definitely_ wouldn’t miss that pain. He didn’t bother answering the doctor’s comment about taking it easy, considering anything he said would be a blatant lie.   
  
“Just… nothing that’ll put me to sleep?” Dean asked the nurse. He’d already fallen asleep once, he didn’t want to repeat that before they got out of there. People were counting on him.  
  
Candace smiled in understanding before ducking back to one of the cabinets behind the chair. "This shouldn't put you to sleep. It might make you a little lightheaded for a little while. Nothing extreme," she explained, while the sound of supplies being prepared came from the counter.  
  
The doctor nodded to himself after assessing what he could see of Dean's arm in the sling. "We're gonna need to get that sling and jacket off of you, sir. Then she can administer the pain medication, and after you tell me it feels like it's kicking in, I can make sure your bones are all set to heal right."  
  
He held up his own arm, keeping his elbow at a 90-degree angle, to demonstrate his procedure. "You're going to get a splint that goes from the top of your hand like this, wraps back around your elbow, and ends at about your palm. It should keep things stable so that healing can get going, but you'll still be able to flex your hand while everything's wrapped up. Make sense?"  
  
“Works for me,” Dean replied. It was the first time he’d broken his arm himself, but he’d seen others have it happen. It was impossible for hunters to escape injuries forever. It was a dangerous line of work, and he’d been around it his entire life. The amount of griping he’d hear at Bobby’s when a hunter was injured was entertaining, especially when it was John. Bobby had threatened to kick him out of the house on a daily basis.  
  
The nurse gave him a hand with the sling Jacob had improvised, sliding the broken arm out. Dean hissed with pain as it dropped away, and steeled himself. Getting the jacket off would be harder. It was good his clothing wasn’t skin-tight. There was enough space to maneuver his arm out so they didn’t have to cut the jacket away from the inflamed skin. The sight of his arm was enough to make him flinch from it.   
  
It just looked so _wrong_. Puffy skin on his forearm and the awkward angle it was at pointed to where the break was, and Dean could remember Jacob’s hand sealing right around the limb before it broke. He’d probably be hearing the _snap!_ in his dreams on top of the other nightmares that made a regular appearance.   
  
Right next to the nightmare of Sam vanishing, not three feet away.  
  
Those bright hazel eyes always looked up at Dean right before the flash hit, even though they hadn’t during the actual attack. Like they were _begging_ Dean to just _do something_. Save him from the fate the witch had in store.  
  
Dean had to shake that off and pry his eyes away from his arm. “Ready when you are,” he told the nurse with a forced grin.  
  
She nodded and smiled faintly, a sympathetic glimmer in her eyes for the pain he worked so hard to hide. With expert hands that were well practiced with doing this over and over in the average ER shift, the nurse brushed an alcohol wipe over Dean's skin barely an instant before a needle had broken through. Her hands were steady and gentle while she pushed the plunger all the way down, administering the pain medicine quickly and efficiently.  
  
There was definitely something to be said for sitting still during something like that. A squirming patient took several tries for that to work.  
  
In a fluid moment, the nurse sidled out of the way and the doctor stepped forward. His hands, gloved and ready, settled lightly on Dean's broken, misshapen arm. "Here we go," he muttered to himself, before glancing up to watch Dean for signs of the medicine really kicking in.  
  
Dean also waited for the medication to really kick in, staring at his arm determinedly. It slowly crept in from the needle, putting his mind in a fog with a vague feeling of the room being in motion. His eyes were slightly unfocused, and it was good that he was sitting down. He glanced up at the doctor when the time stretched out longer than he thought it should. “Well? What’re you waiting for? I can take it!”  
  
The doctor smirked for barely a second before focusing on the injury. His hands took a surer hold on Dean's arm, and though the medication couldn't completely do away with the pain of such an injury, only a dull throb would ever make it to Dean's brain as the doctor shifted the bones back into the alignment that they needed.  
  
Dean's arm was swollen and bruised, but no longer had that sickeningly _wrong_ angle to it. After that, the doctor and the nurse worked in efficient tandem to place some padding on Dean's arm before wrapping the layers of wetted plaster around Dean's arm as the doctor warned him before.  
  
The procedure didn't take long, and soon enough Dean's splint was dry and his arm wrapped in more soft gauze, topped off with sturdy bandages.  
  
"There we go, you're all set," the doctor determined, while also fixing Dean’s arm into a more professional sling that wasn’t nearly so tossed-together as the shirt. "If you feel anything weird with it, come back in as soon as you can. I don't think we _need_ to stick a full cast on there but that's only if you behave, you hear me? Candace will lead you back to the waiting room. You've got someone who can drive you, right?"  
  
Dean watched the cast with curious eyes for a few moments before it even sank into his head that he’d been posed a question. “Huh? Drive?” He squinted slightly as he thought back. “Jacob wouldn’t let me drive here,” he complained as he remembered the ride in and how he’d been confined to the passenger side of his own damn car.   
  
“He even took my keys.” Dean had to steady himself as he stood shakily from the chair and accepted his jacket back. The room had a curious tilt to it that he tried to ignore as he stood there and slung the jacket over his good shoulder.  
  
"I can understand his reasoning," the doctor answered him kindly. "Take care, now, sir."  
  
The nurse opened the door to lead Dean back into the bright hallway, watching him closely to make sure he didn't tip right over in his haze. The pain, along with the sharper edges of his senses, was pushed aside in favor of the strange calm that only drugs can provide.  
  
"Just a short walk back," she prompted, before leading Dean down the hallway back towards the waiting room. She glanced back at him several times, making sure he was doing okay.  
  
When they returned, Jacob looked up and stood, making his way over to Dean. He glanced at the wrapped up arm before noting Dean's eyes seemed ... out of focus. "Hey, dude. Feeling any better?" he asked cautiously.  
  
“Never better!” Dean boasted as he walked up to Jacob, only noticing at the last second that he was veering off course. He corrected his direction and came to an abrupt stop when Jacob ended up being closer than he’d thought. “Arm’s all better and I’m ready to _go._ Sam’s waiting for us!”  
  
He took off without looking. It took a few seconds of determined walking to realize he’d gone in the wrong direction and had to backtrack. “I don’t know what they used in that shot they gave me but I can’t feel a _thing_ ,” Dean enthused to Jacob when he found him again. “Where’s the car parked?”  
  
"Well ... outside," Jacob answered, keeping his expression as neutral as he could. Hopefully Dean wouldn't see the smirk at the edges of his mouth in this state. Despite everything going on, it was hard not to find the drugged antics amusing. "Lemme show ya."  
  
He led the way towards the automatic doors, pausing often to give Dean a fighting chance at following him. As soon as they were close enough, the doors slid open with a quiet, pneumatic hiss.  
  
"There she is, right where we left her," Jacob announced when the sleek, monstrous Impala came into view. "Bowman's probably wondering how you're doing."  
  
When he caught sight of the car, Dean didn’t need Jacob’s guidance anymore. He made a beeline for the familiar beauty. “Talk about a sight for sore eyes,” he murmured as he came up to her. “I can always count on you to be around for me, can’t I?” From childhood on, she was the one constant that always stood out in his mind. Even before they lost their home she’d been around for him and it felt like just a matter of time before she became his in his teen years.  
  
Dean pulled open the door and sat heavily in the passenger’s side of the bench seat. He might have trouble focusing on what was going on around him but he retained enough to remember that he wasn’t supposed to drive. This was reinforced by the way the edges of his world insisted on not staying still, teasing the edge of his vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't totally know what's going on right now, but he definitely needed the help with his arm. Good thing Jacob's here to look after Dean and his new little bro!
> 
> **Next:** March 8th, 2020 at 9pm EST.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	7. How to Subdue Dean

Bowman's bored doze ended more abruptly than he expected it to. The shaking of the wide seat above him came quickly after the breeze from the wide open door. Bowman lurched to his feet while the world, dim and unfamiliar, rocked and shook around him.  
  
He barely had time to dart out from under the ominously shaking seat before the other door opened. At least Jacob glanced his way and got into the Impala at a much more measured pace. Bowman's heart was pounding in spite of himself, and he spread his wings sluggishly.  
  
Taking flight after sitting idle and nearly falling asleep was a trick, but Bowman managed to take to the air not long after the doors slammed closed and sealed them all in again. "Hey! Maybe warn me a little next time?!" he groused, hovering at eye level with the humans, his arms crossed.  
  
Dean did a double take when he saw the sprite in the air, flinching backwards. “What the--” To say he was shocked would be putting it lightly. The fact that Bowman was waiting for them back in the car had slipped his mind somewhere between the morphine and the broken bone being set.  
  
Recovering slower than normal, Dean leaned forward, staring at the sprite that was flying inside his car. “Dude!” He held up a hand, hesitantly trying to brush a wing. “Didja know you’ve got wings like a _fairy?_ ” Dean asked helpfully, giving voice to some of his earlier thoughts about the sprite. “Kinda more like dragon wings, but _still_. Dragons don’t come that small.”  
  
Bowman veered away from the outstretched hand, nonplussed. "Did he just--" he looked at Jacob, and before he could finish his query, Jacob grinned sheepishly.  
  
"Didn't have any way to warn you ahead of time, but Dean's ... had some medicine that makes him a little loopy."  
  
"What _for?_ " Bowman asked, drifting hesitantly back towards Dean to peer closer at him.  
  
"It's for the pain," Jacob explained patiently.  
  
Bowman frowned, but couldn’t begrudge him that. "Well. I'm _not_ a fairy, just so you know," he clarified for Dean.  
  
“Well if you’re not a fairy, why’re you so small and _flying?_ ” Dean argued back, stubbornly digging his heels in. “Not to mention all the forest clothes. It’s not _my_ fault you’d fit right in with the Keebler Elves in their treehouse.”  
  
Before anyone else could react, Dean’s hand swiped through the air. He might be drugged, exhausted and seeing double half the time, but he was still a hunter. Not to mention a big brother who’d only just rediscovered his little brother and found out he had an adopted family. Bowman ended up snatched up in a loose fist, brought close to the glazed green eyes to inspect him for any injuries.  
  
“What about you?” Dean asked worriedly as he squinted at the tiny sprite he was holding only two inches from his face. One of his fingers carefully nudged at Bowman’s arm to make sure it was moving okay. “Did anyone bother you while we were gone? Did anyone bother my car?”  
  
Bowman silently thanked the Spirit that Dean hadn't latched onto him any harder. If he had, the dull pain throughout his legs would have flared up. As it was, he was simply annoyed as well as startled. He leaned back from Dean's face in pure surprise, hardly able to keep both of those huge green eyes in sight.  
  
He exasperatedly yanked his arms out of range of Dean's sluggish prodding, only to plant his hands and try to push out of the human's grip a moment later. His wings hung at his back, twitching like mad, but he refrained from buffeting Dean's whole face with them.  
  
For the moment.  
  
"Blast it, having a broken arm doesn't give you an excuse to just _grab_ me," he pointed out. "You _could_ ask all of those things without it, you know. You'll notice everything is fine." He gestured vaguely to the unharmed car around them, shot a quick sideways glare at Jacob, and resumed trying to push Dean's fingers away.  
  
“How’m I ‘upposed to tell _that?_ ” Dean complained, angling his hand to see the rest of Bowman to check him. “I’ve never _had_ a brother with wings. I’ve barely even had _anyone_ around for ages.” The drugs in his system were loosening up his words more than alcohol ever did, that was for sure. Combine that with his normal walls already crumbled, and Dean was opening up more than he had since losing Sam. The _first_ time.  
  
When he was sure Bowman, for all his annoyance, wasn’t showing any new signs of injury, Dean opened up his hand. His eyes didn’t leave the leafy wings, completely fascinated with the way they moved.  
  
Bowman swallowed a noise of surprise as gravity suddenly took hold of him instead of Dean. His wings recovered quickly, catching him and allowing a quick swerve to land safely on the seat between the two humans once more. Once his boots were on solid ground again, he shook out his wings and glared upwards at Jacob once more.  
  
Jacob raised his eyebrows while he focused on starting up the car with another rumbling roar. "What? It looked like you had it under control," he said nonchalantly.  
  
Bowman pursed his lips and let out an aggravated sigh. Then, he sat down against the back of the seat with his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms crossed.  
  
"Okay, Dean. I gotcha. But next time, no need to grab. I'll teach you to check for a hurt wing sometime later, but usually I'll just, y'know, _tell_ you if something's wrong."  
  
“That’s not the first time I’ve heard _that_ ,” Dean muttered as he leaned back in his seat. “Practically gotta pry it outta dad or Bobby with a crowbar if you want them to admit they got hurt.” He let himself relax as the comforting purr of the Impala surrounded them. He’d never admit _he_ was just as stubborn as everyone else. One thing John Winchester had passed down to his sons was a stubborn streak the size of Kansas, as Bobby well knew after headbutting with _all_ of them.  
  
At least with Sam, the headbutting didn’t happen much. The youngest son was happy if he had schoolwork to focus on, and many times he’d sneak out to the field behind the house and hide out where he didn’t have to worry about John chasing him down for skipping target practice. Dean always knew where he was hiding, but most of the time he’d leave Sam be.  
  
After Sam vanished and John fell into a downward spiral of depression, Dean had taken up hiding out in the field with a book or two. Not books that he’d ever read, but books _Sam_ had been interested in.  
  
It helped him feel closer to Sammy’s memory.  
  
Dean’s headbutting with Bobby really only happened when he was stuck between the two older hunters. Being between John and Bobby was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Neither would give an inch, and Dean was left picking up the pieces after their arguments ended.  
  
“Gotta go get Sammy,” Dean mumbled, more to himself than Jacob or Bowman. “Now that I’m all better. It’s time to go find him.”  
  
Jacob glanced to the side while he put the Impala in gear to leave the emergency room parking lot. Dean looked way more exhausted than before, even without the pain furrowing his brow. Bowman, after his previous pout, was sitting there nearly dozing off, his wings lying slack around him.  
  
They weren't getting anywhere that night.  
  
He contemplated what he would say as he hunted his way through town for a familiar sign. He saw it as he passed by on his way to the campgrounds ever time, and it always said **_Vacancies!_** on the bottom. When he finally found the motel and pulled up near the office, he put the Impala in park and turned his head to face Dean.  
  
"Look, dude ... I don't ... You gotta rest. _I_ gotta rest. Bowman's practically out like a light already," he said steadily.  
  
"No'm not," Bowman argued, his wings picking up briefly before settling down around him once more.  
  
Jacob pursed his lips. "I'm gonna check us into a room here, it can be a home base or something. Just a few hours’ rest, and we'll all be much better help for Sam. What d'you say?"  
  
“ ‘M fine!” Dean protested, in line with Bowman in trying to stubbornly dig his heels in. He shifted so he was sitting up, blinking blearily at their surroundings. “Just get me to the forest and I’ll be able to help. We _gotta!_ ”  
  
He had to give up trying to sit up, breathing heavily and letting the world slow down around him. “Just wanna find Sammy…”  
  
Jacob frowned, feeling a little like a bad guy for what he was suggesting. But, as the only one good to drive the car, he knew that he had some room to insist. Dean _needed_ the rest. Another glance down at Bowman showed that he needed it, too.  
  
It also gave Jacob an idea. He reached out and gently scooped his hand under Bowman. The sprite flopped over on his hand before sitting up sluggishly, blinking slowly. His wings hung slack.  
  
"What?" Bowman groused, his voice heavy with exhaustion.  
  
Jacob looked over Bowman's slumped form at Dean. "Bowman's basically a plant, Dean. He's been up and flying around since well before the sun went down. He needs to recuperate a little, at least. And you probably should, too. You had an arm busted tonight, dude."  
  
“Plant?” Dean asked, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Like energy-from-the-sun kinda plant?” He gave Bowman a slightly accusing look. “And you didn’t want to tell me _that?_ ” he shot at the sprite, sounding put out after being lectured about how Bowman was ‘fine’ not long ago. How in the world was he going to be able to watch out for the little sprite if he didn’t even know something as important as that? At least if he or Jacob needed energy they could grab some coffee or a soda, but a plant…  
  
“We don’t have an extra sun on hand, so you’ll need to take it easy until the morning,” Dean said tartly. “Sam won’t be happy if we run his little brother into the ground when he’s not around.” He held out his hand, beckoning Jacob to hand the sprite over. “I’ll keep an eye on small fry over here and make sure he doesn’t get into any _more_ trouble.”  
  
"But I'm fine, I could just eat something," Bowman protested, even as Jacob acquiesced to Dean's gesture. The leafy wings only rustled a little as Bowman slid from Jacob's tilted hand onto a new one. Jacob met the glare shot at him with an apologetic shrug. With both Dean and Bowman prepared to jump right back into the search despite looking ready to collapse, he'd had to cheat a little.  
  
He could see in those bright green eyes that he'd be paying for it later.  
  
"I'll be back," he said, before Bowman could call after him again. The car door slammed behind him, leaving Bowman with his newfound protective brother for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Step 1: Plop a Bowman on him  
> Step 2: ????????  
> Step 3: Profit
> 
> It's a good thing Jacob's here to keep those two from getting into trouble!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** March 11th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	8. Family Found

“You can help search for Sam tomorrow with the rest of us,” Dean said sternly as he cupped the hand holding his adopted sprite brother close to his chest. His drug addled mind had settled on keeping Bowman safe as his most important task. They couldn't let anything happen to the little sprite while they were searching for Sam. Family was all important and Dean refused to let anyone else in Sam's family suffer.  
  
The tiny weight in his palm was reassuring. It gave Dean something else to focus on to keep his mind off of Sam and how useless they were to him until they'd all rested. At least Dean could do _some_ good, and look after Bowman.  
  
“The sun's been down for hours,” Dean said. “Shouldn't you be asleep by now? You're no good to Sam if you collapse trying to find him.”  
  
Bowman sighed and pulled his wings close. "I've flown late at night before, my wings aren't _so_ worn out." They folded loosely to his back, still partially resting on Dean's palm. They kept betraying his insistence that he was fine to keep flying, but the part of him that cared assiduously for his wings reminded him that Jacob and Dean were right. Pushing himself too far was a good way to go crashing into the ground.  
  
He had a feeling he knew what would happen if he tried to hop off Dean's hand. Even with that medicine, he was a quick human. Bowman was stuck. "I wasn't really paying attention to it all that much," he admitted after a moment. "And I _could_ eat something to get a little more energy, but ... sunlight's better for wings."  
  
Dean thought about that, staring down at the tiny guy moving around on his hand. The little wings felt strange resting on his hand where he could feel them. The calluses that covered most of his hands made it harder to make out such light weights.  
  
 _Man, my life is weird._  
  
“I need a guidebook to this whole thing,” Dean decided abruptly. “ ‘Sprite Care 101.’ At least with Sam I already know what to do if he’s hurt.” Images of the tiny knight trapped on the ground with an injured arm just like his flashed through Dean’s mind. “He might be too small for me to do much for now, but I know how to set an arm. But you and Rischa and any other sprite, I’m in the dark. Useless unless someone tells me what I’m doing, and that’s beside how big I am.” He got the feeling he was rambling but didn’t much care. His life had flipped upside down on his latest case and he hadn’t quite figured things out in his mind. “I’m supposed to help people, but how’m I supposed to _do_ that if I don’t know what I’m doing?”  
  
Bowman gave Dean an odd look, tilting his head back to stare up at the worried human's face. After a few seconds of thought, he replied, "Well you just met us all _today,_ how're you gonna be a wood sprite expert in a day?" The idea was even more ludicrous to him when he said it out loud. Even wood sprites took some time to learn everything about themselves, after all.  
  
"I am the fastest flyer in the village, but I didn't get there _overnight,_ " Bowman continued, shifting one of his wings around himself so he could absently preen to keep himself awake. "Besides, even though you grabbed at first, you didn't hurt anyone, even by accident."  
  
“ ‘M glad,” Dean mumbled, leaning his head back against the seat. Sitting around in the car with nothing else to do but talk while Jacob did… something… left him with the rest of his energy dissipating. “Didn’t… didn’t know why Jacob was there. Thought he might try and go for Rischa if he saw her so I closed my hands. Then you and Sam showed up and everything got more muddled. Just… wanted to help...”  
  
Dean’s voice trailed off and he stared into the dark. He didn’t see the parking lot around the car, his thoughts turned inwards as he remembered those first few moments through a drug-addled lens. Trapping the sprite was the only option he could come up with on short notice to make sure they didn’t go near the other human, then he turned out to already _know_ them and Dean was the outsider.  
  
The outsider that the entire village knew.  
  
“This is all way too confusing,” he grumbled aloud.  
  
Bowman barked out a tired laugh. "Yeah, well," he muttered back, shrugging lightly. "I think it surprised all of us, to tell you the truth. Not every day the giant brother you only ever heard about stops by for a visit." His musings trailed off into mumbles as he stretched his wings before shaking them out and folding them once more.  
  
The silent wait felt longer than it was. Eventually, Bowman perked up at the sight of Jacob walking back around the front of the huge Impala and settling himself on the other side of the seat at last.  
  
"Got us checked in, soon as the clerk was awake enough to understand me," he announced, wasting no time in getting the car started. Both Bowman and Dean looked more exhausted than ever, only proving him right. At this point, it was even odds on who would drop off first.  
  
Dean didn’t respond, just barely staying awake as Jacob pulled the car around to the side of the motel their room was on. He’d run out of energy to question the teenager with, his body sapped of energy by a combination of the injury, the worn-off adrenaline of the case and the morphine in his system. It made him easier to prod out of the car when they parked.  
  
Cupping his fingers around Bowman’s tiny form to help block him from sight, Dean climbed out of the car with a distinct lack of energy. Jacob grabbed the duffel he indicated, the one that had his extra clothes (and extra weapons) inside.  
  
Living out of his car meant everything was easy to find.  
  
Dean let Jacob lead the way to the room since the kid had the key, and knew which room number it was. The hunter was having trouble even _reading_ the room numbers on the doors, so he stopped trying to keep from getting a headache as the world spun. It was his determination to keep Bowman safe in his hands that kept him on his feet by that point. Each step was heavy as he walked.  
  
Jacob glanced back before shoving the key into the lock. It took some coaxing as the old metal resisted, but soon enough he got them into the room. "Here we are," he announced quietly, getting out of Dean's way to set the duffel bag on a chair at the table.  
  
The room had a cozy feel to it, evidence of the motel owner doing their best to avoid the tacky look of most similar venues. The table was wobbly, and the dresser didn't have matching knobs on any of the drawers, but there were beds, and that was all Jacob cared about in the room.  
  
“Home sweet home,” Dean agreed as he walked in. _Seen one motel room, seen ‘em all._  
  
Though he’d only met Jacob earlier that day, their shared experiences with the sprites and the demon solidified their new, tentative friendship as only a trial by fire would do. Letting his guard down didn’t bother Dean the way it might normally. The pain medicine didn’t hinder that progress, either.  
  
There were two queen-sized beds with matching tacky covers. Between them was a carved wooden nightstand, and Dean directed his footsteps towards it. Bowman was still in his hand, and Dean didn’t want to risk drifting off to sleep with someone so fragile in his grasp. It just sounded too dangerous. All it would take was one twitch in the wrong direction to hurt the tiny limbs when the little guy was only the size of a finger.  
  
Dean slid Bowman off his hand onto the nightstand, jolting the sprite out of a doze as he landed on the flat surface. With him safely out of the way, Dean collapsed on the bed. He didn’t bother with the covers and left his boots on, any remaining energy stores sapped the moment his head lay on the pillow. The broken arm would keep him on his back but that wasn’t much of a deterrent as sleep claimed him instantly.  
  
Bowman blinked owlishly at Dean. His wings were partially open again, a remnant of the startle reflex from moments ago. He watched Jacob kick off his own boots, taking more time to get ready for rest than Dean did.  
  
"You gonna be comfortable there?" Jacob asked, raising an eyebrow at Bowman's spot on the hard surface of the nightstand. The human sat heavily on the second bed. "I can set a pillow somewhere if you want to."  
  
Bowman sighed thoughtfully and then pushed himself to his feet. His sore legs protested and tried to knock him down again, but he made it. His eyes wouldn't focus on anything in the room for very long, and the sleepy haze over everything only caused more confusion. There were _corners_ everywhere. And big, hulking, unfamiliar things no matter which direction he looked.  
  
"I'll look after Dean," he decided, fluttering his wings to fly over the bed and hover just over Dean's chest. He settled his boots down cautiously, wondering if he'd wake the human. After a few more seconds of a steady rise and fall, he took it as a good sign.  
  
"This human dwelling is strange," Bowman groused at Jacob while he sat and then lay down on his side. "You and your blasted _corners._ " That said, he pointedly covered himself with a wing like a protective blanket, hiding the sight of the room from himself.  
  
He heard a quiet, exhausted chuckle from Jacob before the electric lighting in the room switched off. Bowman took a slow breath to calm his nerves. He didn't need to worry. He was among safe humans, even if the room was huge and strange. He'd grown up hearing about Dean.   
  
Sam's stories confirmed the notion that he was safe right where he was, and Bowman drifted off to sleep not long after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bowman has quite soundly claimed his new, very big brother!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** March 15th, 2020 at 9pm EST. Beware the ides of March!


	9. Cut to Black

The ominous rumbling of the car echoed around them in the dark.  
  
Sam assiduously brushed his hands over the plastic walls that surrounded them. He and Scar might not be able to see their surroundings, but there were more senses than just sight. If he could build up an image in his mind of what the glovebox looked like, he could figure something out.  
  
Anything.  
  
In the darkness of the glovebox, they hadn’t been bothered by the human. He was driving the car and had to keep his attention on the road. Sam and Scar weren’t about to attract his attention if they could avoid it.  
  
Papers shifted beneath Sam’s boots as he went along, and he almost lost his balance when the car took a turn. “Shit!” he cursed, slapping a hand against the side of the wall.  
  
Once the car had leveled out and was going straight again, Sam leaned against the wall. “Nothing. Aside from the door, there’s no other way out of here.” He slid down to a squat, frustrated.  
  
Scar wished he had a lantern with him. His frustration matched Sam's, though he'd already huddled himself down near where their strange prison had closed up. If it opened again suddenly, he wanted to be ready to make a bid for freedom.  
  
It had been a long time since he'd been stuck without a weapon to defend himself. His sword, lost on the forest floor, might be useless against the box around them, but it would be a simple comfort to know that he had it. If and when a giant hand came at them again, he would be ready to leave a mark no matter whether or not it caught them.  
  
A bump rattled them all the way through, and Scar gritted his teeth. "This blasted ... car thing," he grumbled.  
  
"He won't leave us in here forever," he reasoned after another moment of nothing but the roar of the engine. "When he tries to move us again, I would think a standard scatter is best, even if there's only the two of us. He doesn't seem like the type who'd want to leave either of us free, so maybe we can buy each other time to work out a way to get out of this mess."  
  
Sam tapped a knuckle against the wall he was leaning on, listening to the way the plastic absorbed the sound. “That could work,” he agreed thoughtfully, thinking of what he remembered of cars. It had been _years_ since he’d been in one, and it was doubtful this car would resemble the Impala, but it gave him an edge over Scar in familiarity.  
  
Bobby would expect them to make a break for it, but maybe not _how_ they did it. Humans thought in two dimensions, a way of thinking that Sam had broken free of when he’d taken to the skies with his adopted brother. It meant Bobby might expect them both to dart left and right, but with Scar… they had more directions open to them.  
  
“If you go up, I go down,” Sam said, his mind already planning out their moves. “There’s enough room under the seat for me to escape to the back of the car, and while Bobby’s distracted you can see if there’s any open windows to dart out of.” He might not be able to get out of the car himself, but he’d make a good distraction for Scar’s escape.  
  
"Hmmm," Scar murmured in place of a nod. No matter how long they stayed in the dark, no matter how wide their eyes or how much they willed the space around them to take shape, they couldn't adjust when there was _no_ light to help them. Nothing got into the box, much like nothing would get out. Scar began to think they might not even get fresh air in there unless it was opened.  
  
"I'm not sure how far I'd be able to go," he answered after another bump in their journey. He couldn't leave one of his knights for too long, and definitely not for good. "But the longer we disorient him, the better."  
  
“As long as you get out of the car, you’ll have a chance,” Sam said. “Inside, there isn’t much room to maneuver. Bobby will be able to grab you from just about anywhere. If you can get out, you can harry him from a distance.” Scar was his teacher, but out of nowhere they’d been thrust back into Sam’s old world. He needed to give Scar whatever edge he could.  
  
Considering he was the one who’d be trapped on the floor of a car with a giant around if it went off to plan.  
  
Sam tried to think of places to hide inside of a car. It was hard without knowing what the car looked like. “If you can get him out of the car, I might be able to get out without him noticing…” He trailed off and stared into space.   
  
_And what then, smart ass?_  
  
They could find a forest again, that was for sure. But they were in a _car,_ and already they were too far away to return to the Wellwood without help. There would be no way to know what direction they’d come from, no way to know how to get back.  
  
No way to reach Dean.  
  
Sam only knew about cell phones existing because of Jacob. He had no way of contacting Dean _or_ Jacob.  
  
 _Doesn’t matter. Escape first, figure out the rest later._  
  
The plan was a bleak one, but it was the only one they had. They couldn't hope to fight the human off, and trying to tell Bobby to take them back was out of the question. Scar hated to admit, even privately, that he didn't have a real idea of what they could do. They didn't have a way to track what direction they'd gone, so knowing the direction in the stars wouldn't help them. Scar doubted he would be able to fly high enough to see the vast expanse of Wellwood's trees.  
  
While they contemplated their slim chances, the car carried them farther and farther from home, putting uncountable miles behind them. Scar wore a perpetual scowl in the dark, primed and waiting for an opportunity to fly out of reach, an opportunity that seemed like it might never come.  
  
Hours later, the car slowed down, making more turns than usual. After one last winding stretch of movement, the whole metal behemoth came to a creaking stop and the engine turned off, leaving only a ringing in their ears as evidence that it was ever running in the first place.  
  
"Sit tight, little guys," a muffled voice told them, before Bobby laughed, a cruel sound that said he knew exactly the irony of his statement. Then there was a slam, and the oppressive silence moved in on them.  
  
Scar scoffed. "I ... didn't expect him to just _leave_ us in here," he admitted.  
  
Only moments later, another huge metal door opened, closer this time as Bobby opted for the passenger door instead. Scar braced himself, waiting for the moment. He heard a shuffling outside their prison, and then a latch clicking back, and then the whole floor beneath them tilted out. Scar prepared to dart out, Sam tensed with his hand on the hilt of his rapier crouched at the edge...  
  
And they found themselves blinded.  
  
Bobby held a flashlight in one hand, a high strength one that he knew would pack a vicious punch after their hours in the pitch dark. Scar flinched back with a grimace of pain, and before he could correct his movement or recover, a hand swept into the glovebox to retrieve them.  
  
Sam tried to dodge out of the way, but the glovebox was small enough that Bobby’s hand covered all possible exits when it swept through. A finger brushed against his side, then curled inwards to the palm and took Sam with it.  
  
Slamming against Bobby’s palm, Sam found himself pinned next to the struggling Scar. Knife and rapier both out of reach, Sam tried to thrash to free one. He had an arm free, and shoved at the fingers closed around his chest, partly to try and free himself, and partly to try to escape some of the pressure squeezing them.  
  
It was a dismal reminder of how careful Jacob had really been when he first discovered Bowman.  
  
Not once, in all his fascination, had the larger teen injured the sprite. Not when Bowman had blundered his way into hanging vines and Jacob had helped free him. Not when Sam had slashed his hand and ended up dragged into the air from the shock when Jacob twitched backwards, and not even when slamming the bucket down around them. If anything, he’d gotten Bowman out of trouble again when their escape attempt went awry and Bowman got himself stuck trying to crawl underneath the edge of the bucket.  
  
Bobby had none of that care.  
  
Blinking wide eyes in the dark and flash-blinded, Sam snarled. “We won’t do you much good if you go crushing us!”  
  
"Figures a little guy like you would make a big deal out of nothing," Bobby scoffed. Once he had them securely in hand, he switched off the flashlight and lifted them higher to check on them. Their little eyes were dazed, definitely affected by the sudden onslaught of light. It had been a perfect way to restrain them without lasting damage.  
  
Scar blinked rapidly, trying to get the spots out of his eyes while the human sidled around his huge car. They were in a cluttered room that fit the entire metal behemoth, and a wide door on one side demonstrated how it had rolled in.  
  
The hand around them didn't relent even after Sam's scolding. Breathing was hard but not impossible, and Bobby gave the impression that this was an intentional discomfort for them while he rummaged around in some of the junk in the garage.  
  
"Gotta find a good home for you," he muttered aloud, poking around at a basket of recycled containers. Tall glass jars and squat, clear plastic containers became his best options, and Bobby deliberated between the two lazily, in no hurry to release his captives from his grasp yet.  
  
There was something that made him undeniably giddy to have _finally_ found what his family had sought for generations. Eventually, he'd have to tell his dad and granddad about what he'd found. Until then, they belonged to him alone. It might even be fun teaching them to realize that.  
  
Sam’s eyes finally cleared up, the last few splotches of red dwindling away to reveal their captor’s car.  
  
If there had been room for his chest to expand, he would have sucked in a gasp of surprise at the sight of the huge containers Bobby was rifling through. As it was, he merely made a choked noise, continuing to squirm his way out of Bobby’s fist.  
  
He’d never considered how easy it was for them to fit inside something like a jar or plastic bottle.  
  
Sure, Jacob had once trapped him and Bowman under a bucket a few months back. But even then, there had been a way out. Escaping into the forest wasn’t out of reach, and from there Bowman could seek out help.  
  
Here and now, they were hundreds of miles away from the forest. Even escaping Bobby’s grasp might result in them getting lost for the rest of their lives. Getting out of a jar with a lid would be far more difficult than tunneling under a bucket.  
  
Sam’s mind raced. The only faint light he could see in their situation was that Bobby and Jacob knew each other. If Dean and the others stopped the demon and freed Jacob, there was a chance they’d come check on Bobby after everything was over with. Which meant that Sam and Scar might be able to get their attention.  
  
They had to survive that long and hope, which wouldn’t be easy in Bobby’s grasp.   
  
“Is that the best you’ve got?” Sam asked disdainfully as he watched the human examine the options he had before them to trap them in. He was sweating in place, hoping against hope that there was another way out. Anything with a lid would be near impossible to get out of.  
  
" 'Fraid so, squirt," Bobby answered nonchalantly, continuing to rifle through the various containers. "Nothing swanky for you right off the bat, but you've been trouble so I guess it's as much as you've earned. I'll get you a decent cage tomorrow." He picked up a decently wide, tall jar and observed it, but the lid was nowhere to be found.  
  
Scar breathed shallowly, glaring at Bobby and at his immense surroundings. There was nothing familiar there. Even the air was thick with foreign, nasty smells that might have made Scar gag if he wasn't already fighting to breathe.  
  
"Nothing _decent_ about a cage, you enormous rotting stump," he swore, spitting the words like venom.  
  
Bobby snorted and turned away from the recycling bin with the jar in hand. "Okay, sure," he answered between chuckles. Before he reached the door from the garage into the house, he stuffed the hand with his two captives into the jar and released them on the bottom. The smell of vinegar still permeated the glass, and Bobby's hands were large enough to cover the opening while he entered his home at last.  
  
Scar disentangled himself from Sam and pushed himself to a wavering stand against one side of their glass prison, staring upwards. He had to cover his face with a sleeve after only a few seconds of that sharp, sour smell all but biting at his senses.  
  
Sam’s eyes were watering in turn, his mouth a thin line. “If he was planning on killing us I’m sure there were better ways,” he coughed into his sleeve. “This is just torture.” He tried to wipe his eyes as fast as he could to take in as much information about their new surroundings as he could. If they could get out of the jar, they’d need a plan in place for escape.  
  
Unlike Scar, who didn’t have a chance of recognizing their strange surroundings, especially with all the sharp corners that surrounded them, Sam knew exactly where they were. The scenery was strangely warped by his size, but he had a sense of returning to what he’d lost.  
  
Rubbing at his eyes, Sam tried to blink and keep them clear. “Cars are kept in the garage,” he said, almost reciting what he remembered. “Doors keep the bugs out, and we’ll never be able to open up a door on our own. Windows might be open but there could be a screen that covers it, keeping the bugs out again.” He had to stop and cough.   
  
“Blast!” Sam kicked the side of the jar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scar and Sam are not having a good ride
> 
> There is a good chance that in the next few weeks we will have a short hiatus. Stay safe everyone!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** March 22nd, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	10. Trophies

Bobby snickered quietly, hearing the angry little voice echoing strangely in the glass container. He tilted the jar from one side to the other while he crept up the stairs, making his way to his room and hoping he wouldn't wake his parents. He didn't want to deal with them at this hour.  
  
Scar crouched down with his wings unfolded and braced on the transparent floor of the jar. The sway and tilt proved too much for even the stubborn knight to keep his feet effectively. The human toyed with them until he came to a tall, rectangular door, which admitted him to yet another confoundingly boxy room.  
  
"The furnishings are enormous," he muttered to Sam even as the door closed behind the three of them. "Hiding behind something may be a good temporary plan. Somewhere he can't reach."  
  
"Still chatting up a storm in there, aren't ya?" Bobby interrupted, setting the jar down harder than necessary on a desk by the window. He sat at the chair so he could lean in to peer at his prisoners.  
  
Sam crossed his arms, meeting the human stare for stare. Even leaning down the kid loomed over them, and in a way that Jacob always actively tried to avoid.  
  
Bobby _wanted_ them to be afraid of him.  
  
This thought stiffened Sam’s back. He wasn’t about to roll over and act like someone’s _pet_ or _possession_.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam said tartly back to Bobby. “You’d rather we stare at you the same as you’ve been doing? I know you can’t take your _eyes_ off us, can you?” The impression of being _watched_ hadn’t left him the entire time. Even when the human looked away, there was the impression that Bobby _wanted_ to look at him. It made Sam’s skin crawl to the point where he almost wanted to take off his skin and wash it in the clear stream in the Wellwood to scrub off the prickling sensation.  
  
Bobby smirked and tapped a finger on the glass. "Like lookin' at a freak at the circus," he shot back, his blue eyes glinting maliciously while an unconcerned smile twitched at his lips. The backtalk was a little amusing, but the fact that it just kept coming when they were clearly outmatched irked him. Even the tiny little sword at the wingless guy's side didn't worry him at all. If the little critter got annoying with it, Bobby would take it away, simple as that.  
  
"I am a little curious about what you are, squirt," he said almost conversationally. He was tempted to reach into the jar and drag the little guy out so he could get a closer look at the teeny little limbs, the bitty face, but he refrained for the moment.  
  
They would get used to confinement like that. They would _not_ be running free in the house.  
  
"He's a knight, you stupid child," Scar spoke up. He kept his voice level, like he was merely scolding a nestling. His eyes and hard expression spoke volumes more, as was his way. Scar, a knight who knew respect for even the wolf he blinded himself, had nothing but contempt for the human staring in at them. "He's a far better fighter than you could hope to be, boy, so you should show more respect."  
  
Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Well, damn, if that's how it is, why don't we just fight so you can show me how badass you are?" he taunted, flicking the glass again.  
  
Sam gave the hand a flat look, holding out an arm for balance as the jar trembled around them. The image came to mind of kids pulling the wings off of butterflies just to see if they could, and how angry he’d grown as a child when he’d seen that. It was unfair, and it would kill off the insects as surely as stepping on them, but it would be a more drawn-out death.  
  
It was hard to say if Bobby would ever try tortures like that, but Sam wouldn’t bother betting against them. They were vulnerable to him so long as they were in his power.  
  
“You really can’t tell what I am?” Sam asked, faking a hurt tone of voice in the hopes that it might get through to the human faster than his other methods so far. He refused to rise to the bait about fighting the kid. It wouldn’t be a fair fight unless they were on the same scale. And then, Sam would be the one that came out on top. It wasn’t even a question in his mind. “I mean, at least the sprites had the excuse that they’d never seen a human before when I first was in the forest. But you see humans every day.”  
  
Bobby blinked lazily, taking away more from Sam's taunts than perhaps was intended. For one thing, the little guy wasn't from the forest at all. He didn't _actually_ have a tie to the sprites other than proximity and being the same size. And who knew how the little thing had gotten out there in the first place; certainly not walking. A fox could snap him up.  
  
"Last I checked, _people_ get a little taller than, what are you, like four inches? Nice try, little guy. Good effort." He grinned tauntingly and held his thumb and finger apart, demonstrating Sam's small size.  
  
Bored of the banter, Bobby reached up and gripped the rim of the lidless jar once more. He roughly turned the whole thing over on its side, knocking Sam and Scar off their feet. It gave him an edge when he reached in with his other hand towards Sam, but he wasn't quite expecting Scar to recover so quickly.  
  
The sprite knight didn't have room to fully spread his wings in their confinement. It was hard to maneuver, but as the hand reached in towards Sam, Scar leapt to his feet and in the next instant jumped up onto the back of the human's hand. The other one was wounded and irritated with poison. Scar thought he might have one more small container of venom that he could use, and once he landed, he reached into his jacket to seek it out.  
  
Before he could, the hand lifted up and pinned him between it and the curved glass wall. The breath was forced harshly from Scar's lungs and his wings were compressed. Scar grimaced and tried to force some defiant words out of his mouth, while Bobby maintained a bored expression.  
  
"Right, okay. Just a fair warning, if you try to stab me, I will lift up the jar exactly like this. I wouldn't be able to help _flinching_ because of that annoying little toothpick you have there. Think his wings could take it?" he said, looking directly through the warped glass at Sam. "Step out onto the desk."  
  
Sam refused to look at Scar and show his worry for his mentor. His sharp hazels remained trained on Bobby, wary of another unexpected move. The rapier was brandished in his hands and held at the ready, but inside, Sam knew it would do him no good.  
  
No matter what happened to him, he couldn't risk getting someone else hurt.  
  
As much as he backtalked Bobby, Sam did it to keep the human distracted from the sprite. There was something about the way Bobby looked at Scar. Like he was a long lost possession being reclaimed, coveted for so long.  
  
Sam couldn't let this human go claiming people as his own, whatever it took. No matter that Bobby considered them less than people because of their size. Sam knew that didn't matter and never would. Jacob and Dean both understood, why couldn't this kid?  
  
“Wait!” Sam cried, throwing out a hand. “Don't. If you hurt his wings he might never fly again. What's a sprite without wings? That's what you wanted, right? _Proof of sprites?_ ” He lowered his sword down. “I'm coming out, see?” Sam carefully picked his steps, hoping to avoid falling down again if Bobby moved. He refused to meet Scar's gaze.  
  
Scar tried to writhe himself free of the hand crushing him into the erstwhile ceiling. If he could get loose, Sam wouldn't have anything holding him back from fighting. As it was, a knuckle was digging into Scar's gut, preventing him from telling Sam to fight anyway, to mar up the human's hands as much as he could.  
  
He loathed the fact that he'd been reduced to a bargaining tool. Threatened with crushed wings just to get one of his knights to comply ... Scar had never faced an enemy that would use tactics like that, but that didn't mean he couldn't adapt. Sam wasn’t the only one to notice the way the human looked at him.  
  
Bobby held still, giving Sam as much room as he could to get past his arm and the opening of the jar. Once Sam was out, he let Scar fall from his hand and tilted the jar back upright, trapping the sprite from an easy exit.  
  
"Good boy," Bobby said with a chuckle teasing the edge of his voice. The condescending smirk loomed over Sam on purpose. He tapped the irritated, bruising skin on his hand from Sam's vicious attack earlier and added, "You'll be making up for this in no time, you keep behaving like that."  
  
"Blast it, what makes you think we're your property, boy?" Scar snarled from inside the jar, his hands pressed against the glass. His wings were fanning open and closed, and he waited for a chance to fly out of the open jar. For now, he kept watch on Sam.  
  
"We've been through this, if your little pin-sized brains can keep up sometime this century," Bobby answered icily while he picked up a pen from the clutter on the desk. He focused on Sam again, using the tip of the pen to prop up one of his little arms, and went on like they were discussing the weather. "I found you on my land. That's what makes you my property."  
  
Sam stared back at him, his face expressionless. He tried his best to ignore how helpless he felt, being treated like nothing more than a _toy_. Back in the beginning, when they first ran into Jacob and got a good look at a human that wasn’t cursed, Sam had worried about this type of situation. The teen had ended up proving any worries about humans wrong. Though he was fascinated at first by Bowman and Sam, he’d treated them like people. Even his first instinctive grab was tempered compared to this handling.  
  
Bobby was determined to live up to every stereotype in the archives.  
  
“People can’t be _owned,_ Bobby,” Sam persisted. His tone was level, matching his expressionless face. It kept the human from seeing the fear hiding behind his facade. “There was an entire war because of that, and the slave owners _lost._ Do you really want to repeat mistakes like that?”  
  
Bobby raised an eyebrow and released Sam's arm from his observation. He reached down and poked the little guy's chest to demonstrate the size discrepancy between them. Sam flinched back, holding a hand against his chest. "All that stuff was about _humans,_ squirt," he countered, not even pausing to consider his own thinking. There was a time when he might have stopped to think more carefully about this, but the demon had helped him understand that was silly. He was _right,_ so why doubt himself?  
  
Scar had seen enough. He let out a frustrated sound before stepping back from the glass and preparing his wings, staring upward at the opening. He'd see about recreating his Wolfblind feat, somehow, some way. He launched himself upward at the opening, trying not to bang his wings on the sides around him.  
  
The narrow space made that impossible, and it slowed him down. Enough that, when he finally emerged from the top of the jar, a hand reached out and snatched around his body. Then it didn't matter how wide he could spread his wings, but he buffeted them against the human anyway.  
  
"You are _trophies,_ " Bobby said quietly, a truly dangerous edge in his voice now as he regarded the defiant sprite. "Stop all this shit. You lost. That's on you. I win." After his short tirade, he reached up with his other hand and pinched one of Scar's beating wings in his thumb and finger to stretch it out and observe the leafy limb once more while Scar continued to thrash and writhe in his hand.  
  
Sam snarled, his calm countenance dropping away as though it never existed. With no other options open to him, he seized the moment to do what he’d hoped he would never have to do.  
  
The young knight sprinted for the edge of the desk.  
  
But he wasn’t trying to escape.  
  
When Sam reached the edge and hurled himself off, his leap carried him far enough to slam against Bobby’s shirt. His fingers slid through the thick fabric, easily fitting between the threads that made it up. He’d noticed with Jacob how easy it was to climb human clothing, and now took full advantage.  
  
Wasting no time, Sam scaled straight up. If he could reach Bobby’s neck, his sword would do a lot more damage than Bobby would expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things might be grim, but Sam and Scar won't give up!
> 
> I know there's a lot going on right now, we're all feeling the changes happening in the world! If anyone needs a distraction from it all, remember you can always send us a message at https://brothersapart.tumblr.com/ask. We are happy to get messages, and it helps us all to have a distraction in these times!
> 
> There will be a hiatus coming up from March 26 to April 2nd because I will be out of state and away from my computer. During this time I will be unable to post stories, but will have full access to the tumblr blog if anyone wants to wander by.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** March 22nd, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	11. A Break

"What the fuck!" Bobby blurted, flinching in sheer surprise at the sight (and feeling) of a tiny man climbing on him. His icy blue eyes widened slightly when he noticed how easily those tiny fingers found purchase in the weave of his shirt, and for a moment he was simply a fascinated kid.  
  
It didn't last.  
  
His look hardened and his hand released Scar's wing only to rush at Sam. He slammed his palm against the tiny thing, pressing him for a disorienting moment between a palm and his chest before his fingers curled yet again around the little guy.  
  
"What the fuck," he echoed, pulling Sam away from himself and glaring at him. Each fist was occupied now by a tiny, glaring man who thought he still had a chance. "Do you need more fucking incentive here, squirt? I can still pin you to a board, you know."  
  
"But you won't, will you?" Scar snarled, pausing in his struggles to glare at Bobby. Then his expression turned into a smirk. "If you wanted to really hurt us, you'd have done so already, you insolent giant. Your words are empty. You might have captured _us,_ but you still haven't gotten _my_ attention."  
  
Bobby scowled for a long time, glancing between the two of them. He tried to decide what he should do about the shit talking. He couldn't just let that slide.  
  
He couldn't let anyone be right but himself.  
  
"Incentive it is," he muttered, before moving the hand with Sam back over the desk and releasing him a few inches above the hard surface.  
  
In an instant, that hand had pinched Scar's wing again, this time finding the wrist at the very apex. His thumb and first finger closed around a pressure point where all of the fingerbones of the wing connected to the main arm, and Scar grimaced as pressure increased.  
  
Bobby glanced down at Sam and smirked pointedly. Then, after just a bit more pressure, he felt what he was after and the sprite's scream of pain finally escaped him.  
  
“Leave him alone!” Sam shouted. He could feel Bobby’s eyes boring into him but couldn’t take his gaze away from the sprite as he writhed in pain. Sam might not have wings like the sprites, but after a lifetime growing up with them, he understood far too well how much pain it caused if there was a break. Helping raise a little brother who could fly included a lot of lessons in wing care.  
  
A tear snuck its way out of Sam’s eye. He was useless. If he attacked again, Scar would get hurt even worse. Same if he tried to escape.  
  
Deep breath. Sam steeled himself. “What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly, forcing himself to meet Bobby’s eyes. The prickle on his neck was almost burning, and he pushed that out of his mind.   
  
Bobby grinned triumphantly. Sam's submission combined with the sprite's rapidly weakening struggles put him in a much better mood than moments before. This was progress. It was unfortunate that he'd had to damage the wing like that, but it didn't feel like a completely irreparable break.  
  
It would serve him very well in the long run, so long as they continued to comply with him.  
  
"I want you to put your weapons down on the desk. Removing temptation will help you, I think," he decided with a faint nod. A little bit more control at a time was a step in the right direction.  
  
"As for you," he continued, finally looking away from Sam to look at Scar. He let go of the wing, which fell to hang limply out of his fist while the little sprite squirmed. The grimace of pain remained, however, and it was clear that his heart wasn't in it at the moment. "I want you to stop with the backtalk. Squirt here is feisty enough without you riling him up."  
  
With that, he lowered his hand to release Scar to the desk near Sam, and the sprite collapsed to his hands and knees immediately, wings crumpling around him and quivering from the pain. Scar breathed quick and ragged, but didn't make a sound after his initial cry of pain.  
  
Sam watched, his lips thin as he saw his mentor in so much pain. But he couldn’t go to Scar just yet to check on those wings. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that he was going to need what first aid they could manage.  
  
First things first.  
  
The rapier at Sam’s side had been _earned,_ back when he first became a knight. It would be painful to let it go, but he doubted Bobby would return the weapons. His motions were stilted as he pulled it free of his belt, staring down at the metal edge. His reflection stared back at him, grimy and harried from a night of being trapped and abused.  
  
Sam’s knife… _that_ was tucked away in its hiding place in his jacket. He didn’t know if Bobby remembered that he had it, and he didn’t know if the human would even recognize its hiding place if he tried. Sam was the only person among the sprites to have such a weapon concealed on him at all times, and it was more than just for protection.  
  
It was his only connection to Dean.   
  
Sam knelt down, laying the rapier down on the table with a certain kind of reverence. He brushed his hand over the blade one last time, knowing it might be the last time he saw his trusty weapon.  
  
Then he stepped away, and glanced up at Bobby.  
  
Bobby nodded approvingly. "Good," he said with a smirk. Everything in his expression exuded smug triumph and the fact that he knew how much pride he was dealing with. How much pride he was working to _break._ "I suppose lookin' like a badass little action figure got to your head. But you're making good progress, squirt, so I'll forgive you."  
  
His hand swooped down and his thumb and first fingers pinched around Sam to lift him up. Bobby brushed at Sam's little jacket, poked at his tiny boots, even tilted his chin to see his face from different angles. "You really are spritely, aren't you? Too bad all you got is fake wings." He set Sam down again, as abruptly as always, near where Scar still knelt on the desk. "Least you don't have to deal with a break like that."  
  
Sam caught his balance, and gave Bobby a wide-eyed look. He counted himself _lucky_ to have escaped unscathed so far with the human’s less-than-gentle handling. Not to mention his knife remained hidden away in his jacket, an ace he needed to keep out of sight unless absolutely necessary.  
  
They couldn’t lose their last weapon.  
  
Bobby didn’t reach for him again, so Sam scrambled to his feet and darted over to Scar. “Don’t move it,” he cautioned as he gently helped Scar into a better position. “We need a way to splint this so it doesn’t get any worse.”  
  
Scar winced and a hiss of pain escaped his clenched teeth. He ended up sitting on the desk with one wing tightly furled to his back to keep it out of the way, while the other quivered and stuck out at a strange angle. The apex of his wing, the wrist, couldn't easily hold up the weight of the rest of it, but propping the wing on the desk was painful, too. Sam was right.  
  
"Sword belts," Scar determined in a quiet, gruff voice. He was already slipping his own belt away from his waist, and it was alarmingly light without his trusted sword on it. That was lost out in the woods, possibly for good.  
  
The human above them merely stared, a grim fascination on his face. It didn't look like he cared what they did, so long as they complied with his wishes and didn't backtalk. Scar looked away from him before he could start glaring again. The last thing he wanted was to break another blasted bone. One already sent his nerves into overdrive assessing the damage.  
  
He cast his gaze instead on the clutter around them on the desk. Aside from the tall jar, there were several things made of plastic and metal that Scar didn't recognize. He did recognize a few pens, like the one Sam had arrived with, but much much bigger. "That curled, metal thing," he said, pointing at a stray paper clip. "Would that work?"   
  
Sam nodded as he got up. “Paperclip. And yeah. It can be shaped.” He could remember bending a few out of shape when he was just a kid, only back then he could do it with two fingers. Now, the paperclip itself was the length of his arm.  
  
For ages he’d wondered what it might be like to go back to the world he’d once known. How different everything would look and how strange he’d feel amidst everyday objects that loomed over him.  
  
Not once had he expected _this._ To feel like a toy instead of a person, to have someone declare _ownership_ of them. Like nothing more than one of those pens that sat on the desk nearby.  
  
 _Dean, we could really use you here._  
  
The thought of his giant older brother, the right size to bust down the door to Bobby’s house and scoop them all to safety, was an image Sam held on to for a brief second before he put it aside.  
  
Sam needed to focus on what he _could_ change, not just wishful thinking. Under the touch of Bobby’s watchful eye, he went over to the paperclip, sending the teenager a wary look before snatching it up.  
  
The extra strength he’d discovered in himself while he was a teenager himself came in useful. Sam twisted the paperclip, straightening it to fit the shape of Scar’s wing. He laid it on the ground and took off his own belt. The sprite-made pants didn’t need the belt to stay up, at least not for Sam. His body was bulky compared to the willowy sprites, so the belt was just needed for his uniform and for the rapier.  
  
Sam held up the straightened paperclip once he had everything set. “Ready?” he asked, a light tone of warning in his voice. This wouldn’t be pleasant for either of them.  
  
Scar pursed his lips. "As I'll ever be," he answered, shifting so he could brace himself better. Part of this included gripping the outer edge of his wing carefully; the limb was delicate, but it could give Sam a spectacular bruise if it flinched too hard and smacked into him.  
  
He kept his gaze away from the human. Bobby loomed over them, keeping up his silent scrutiny and intimidating demeanor. He was in power, and he knew it. They all knew.  
  
Just like they all knew now that he would work to keep that power, even if it meant hurting his "prize."  
  
"Let's get it over with," Scar muttered, giving Sam a nod before turning his gaze to his wounded wing. Pain erupted from the wrist with every beat of his frantic heart and swept through the whole wing before starting at the wrist again. It would be ten times worse, getting it initially splinted up.  
  
“This’ll be over in no time,” Sam said, his voice soothing. He got the paperclip ready and put one hand on the wing. “One… Two…”  
  
Before “Three” ever passed through his lips, Sam had taken the bone and jerked it back into place. That was at trick he’d learned watching Dean take care of their father’s injuries. Sam hadn’t known _how_ John got hurt, just that he was. It was an eye opening experience for the young child, but how calm Dean stayed during the entire thing gave him yet another look at the type of person his older brother really was. Sam had idolized him, and still did inside.   
  
That was the calm he searched for inside while he held the paperclip up to Scar’s wing and began to wrap it with the belts. “There we go, nothin’ to it,” Sam said as he worked. “Just gotta keep off this wing for a few weeks and you’ll never even know it was broken.”  
  
Scar grunted in affirmation, though he was breathing raggedly again. Sam surprising him with the set had done the trick right, and though it wasn't as painful as it could have been, the nerves in Scar's wing were almost going numb from all the abuse. "It's the weeks between that will bother me," he admitted quietly.  
  
Once the wing was fastened in the belts with the length of metal holding the break in place, Scar found it slightly easier to hold his wing to his back. The pain remained, but now that his tender movements couldn't actually shift the bone further, it became manageable.  
  
He finally looked back up at the human, who sported an intrigued look on his face. Bobby smirked and tilted his head. "So you'll be able to fly again after all, huh?"  
  
Scar clenched his jaw to bite back the scathing _No thanks to you_ he wanted to say and instead nodded once. "If I'm watchful."  
  
The human rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that, then. It's not like I took the whole wing off." He leaned closer, his blue glare boring into his small captives. "I've read enough about your kind to know that those don't grow back, no matter how leaf-like they are."  
  
Sam gave Bobby a look. “That’s right, they don’t grow back,” he confirmed pointedly. “If you take his wings off, he won’t be much of a sprite, would he?” It pained him to talk about Scar that way. This was the man he owed his life to, after all. Scar was the one that found him back in the beginning, back when he still thought he stood over four feet tall and wanted to know where his brother was.  
  
“You’ll just end up with two people like me and won’t that be sad.” Sam gave the splint one last look to make sure it was working properly and pushed himself to a stand. He brushed his hands off.  
  
Bobby sneered at him and sat up straight again. "Yes, thank God there's just one of you," he shot back, poking Sam harshly in the chest.  
  
Scar sighed and pushed himself to a stand, albeit a much shakier one. By now, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead from the pain that threatened to knock him out. He resisted complaining. It was just one break. People could survive worse.  
  
"Please, human," he said, entirely unfamiliar with setting his pride aside so thoroughly. But he couldn't stand to see one of his own treated so callously. "Stop. We understand. Don't hurt him."  
  
Bobby picked up Scar this time, his finger and thumb pinching around his torso. Scar winced and planted his hands on the massive thumb, but did his best to rein in his struggling. Bobby looked inordinately pleased. "Looks like he gets it," he said to Sam, lifting Scar a little higher to indicate him.  
  
Without further fanfare, Bobby lowered Scar back into the jar and dumped him onto the bottom. Scar knelt in wary silence, watching as a hand laid flat in front of Sam. "Step onto my hand," Bobby commanded.  
  
Sam stared at the hand before him. He did _not_ want to put himself on it, but deep inside he knew there was really no choice. Scar would suffer if he resisted at all, and everyone knew that if it came down to a choice between Sam and Scar, Sam was expendable in this human’s eyes.  
  
He wasn’t a _sprite,_ and that’s all that mattered for some reason.  
  
The hand that stretched out was smaller than Jacob’s and didn’t show the calluses from long years of work and hunting like Dean’s did, but Sam knew that didn’t matter. Bobby was the weakest of the humans he’d met and he was still weaker than a finger. All it would take was one quick motion and Sam could end up with a broken arm or leg or worse.  
  
They were helpless.  
  
Gritting his teeth, Sam stepped up onto Bobby’s hand, willing himself to pretend it was just like climbing up one last step on his home tree. A brief flash of the few other times he’d spent standing in Dean or Jacob’s hands hit him, and he had to close his eyes as his other boot followed. Sam took a deep breath, trying not to wobble as he came to a halt in the center of Bobby’s hand and opened up his eyes again. He met the icy blue gaze above.  
  
Bobby nodded approvingly. "Good boy," he said, echoing the same tone as earlier. He was condescending and smug, gleeful in the constant reminders that he had the power over the little guys. The demon had been right; this was fun.  
  
He lifted Sam off the desk, noting the slight sway in the miniature man's stand. He steadied his hand the best he could before determining that they were simply so frail compared to any one of his movements that it was hard for them to stand on his palm. Picking them up in his fist was easier, but it was pretty cool to have some kind of fantastical freak standing on his palm. He'd found them on his own.  
  
"I suppose you two will need some rest. Coming this far was probably like going halfway around the world to you," he mused, curling his fingers more to cup around Sam as he lowered him into the jar too. "Don't worry, this is only temporary," he reminded them.  
  
"Oh, Spirit's dance, I hope so," Scar muttered.  
  
After consigning them to the jar, Bobby pushed back from the desk and stood. He didn't see a need to cover the jar now that Scar's wings were taken care of, so he promptly ignored the two prisoners and left the room, presumably to get himself ready for bed. He offered nothing for his prisoners to sleep on.  
  
"Sam, are you hurt? He's jabbed at you a few times now," Scar asked, while scooting himself to the side of the jar to lean against it.  
  
Sam glanced down at his chest. “Bruises, I think,” he said. He hadn’t paid much attention to the strikes once they were over. Scar had it worse. Now that they had a moment to themselves, no matter how long it was, he should see to himself as well. In case one of the careless jabs had done more damage than they thought.  
  
Lifting up his shirt, Sam displayed his chest to the biting air inside the jar. A mottled bruise covered most of it, and he delicately pressed a hand down against the tender skin, hissing in pain. With care he checked over his entire front, making sure none of his ribs were broken.  
  
When he was finished, Sam let the shirt drop and rolled his shoulders to stretch his sore back. “Looks like I make it past the first day in one piece,” he stated dryly. “Wonder how long that’s gonna last at this rate. He _already_ doesn’t like me.”  
  
Scar sighed and glanced through the glass at the tall rectangular door opposite them. It was left open, with a space more than wide enough for them to escape through it. If they weren't trapped and now both flightless. Sam could glide to the floor with his wingsuit, but Scar wouldn't be able to make such a graceful landing.  
  
Then again, desperation might lead the both of them to some actions that they'd normally shy away from. Scar had been in too many battles to deny the possibility. He'd seen knights come to a harsh landing with one wing before.  
  
"Perhaps an opportunity will present itself tomorrow and you won't have to wonder any longer," he said, his voice weary and gruff. Scar was not used to helplessness, not of this magnitude. Now, they couldn't go anywhere but a radius of only a few inches, with a floor and walls of cold glass keeping them in place. "He thinks he's an alpha wolf but he's barely a fox kit."  
  
“A fox kit the _size_ of an alpha.” With a sigh, Sam slid down and sat across from Scar. He held out a hand and stared intently at it. “If only I could change back,” he said wistfully. “I could tie him up in knots with one hand.”  
  
Instead, his hand could barely cover a fingertip. If he was lucky. The only reason they'd done okay with humans so far was because the humans were nice. Jacob. Dean. Neither human would ever hurt those that were weaker than them, and because of that they'd let their guard down. Believed in the good of people.  
  
And now he had a hard time thinking of anything past how dangerous they were.  
  
Sam let his hand drop with a sigh. His head thunked against the glass as he let himself slump back. “I'm sorry,” he said to Scar. “I got us both into this. I just… I wanted to think Bobby would be like Jacob and Dean.”  
  
Scar raised an eyebrow at Sam. "You didn't do anything wrong," he said, quietly but confidently. Scar wasn't certain he'd have done things any differently. After hearing that Bobby was supposedly a victim wandering the forest, he probably would have gotten close and checked on the kid, too.  
  
It was good nature that drove people to check on someone who was hurt. Bobby took clear advantage of it, and no amount of quick attacks from Scar could have changed his mind.  
  
"We're knights. And try as I might, things don't often go completely to plan so if there's one thing we're good at, it's improvising. This is Jacob's friend, correct? We may yet get a chance to contact him if he comes to see what happened to Bobby."  
  
Sam nodded, an almost alien flame of hope kindling in his chest. “Yeah, they said Jacob knew him.” He closed his eyes to recall Dean’s words. “They were on some kind of camping trip when the demon took over Bobby, from what I can tell. That’s who gave Jacob the bruise on his face.”  
  
The thought was more promising than anything else they had to hold onto. “Dean will check up on Bobby, too,” Sam declared confidently. “He’d want to make sure everyone’s okay after a case like that. So if they come here, we might have a way home. We just have to think of a way to get to them.” He stared at the thick glass walls around them. “Somehow.”  
  
Scar let himself smirk. A small vestige of hope was still hope, after all. He had to convince himself that there was always something worse that could happen.  
  
The hopeful mood stagnated as footsteps beyond the door preceded Bobby’s return, covering a yawn with his hand. Scar watched warily, but the boy merely fumbled his hand against something on the wall and the light overhead winked out. Scar blinked in the sudden dark and heard the door closing before more footsteps, and then a rustle of fabric as Bobby climbed into bed. By the time Scar adjusted to the wan light making it through the window, Bobby had crawled into bed, ignoring the two people he held captive on his desk mere feet away.  
  
"I suppose there's nothing to it for now," Scar muttered. "We should sleep in shifts. I can take the first watch. My wing will keep me up anyway."  
  
“Right.” Sam didn’t argue. Scar was right. They would both need what energy they could get if an opportunity arose the next day for escape. If they managed to get out they’d need to avoid a massive human who clearly didn’t care if they got hurt, not to mention anyone else that called the house home. Bobby didn’t look old enough to have a place on his own yet.  
  
Younger than Sam. The unfairness of the world struck Sam again as he lay on his side and stretched out an arm to use as a pillow. He might be _older_ than Jacob and Bobby, but they only had to pay attention to him if they _wanted_ to. Otherwise he was inconsequential, and for the first time he was realizing how true that was.  
  
Didn’t matter. He was a knight, and there was a way out of this. There always was. They just needed to figure it out. Jacob _had_ to come around to check up on his friend. No one else knew that Bobby was threatening and trapping the people that had helped save him. The others would want to know that he was alright.  
  
The hopeful thought of what Dean would do once he discovered what Sam and his mentor had been put through was what Sam had on his mind as he finally slipped into sleep.  
  


* * *

  
Scar kept an eye on his student as he drifted off, and sighed when he heard his breathing level out. It was going to be a long night for them both, no matter how much sleep they managed to get. Scar shifted on the uncomfortable surface, and flinched when he heard the rustling of fabric nearby as the human turned over in his own slumber.  
  
Scar was always the one quick with a plan, something brash but effective to avoid trouble. No High Knight before him had been so effective in bringing knights home unharmed and safe from a scuffle with a predator, according to the spindly little elders that checked the Archives. He'd earned his pride, and yet it felt like none of it mattered now. He hadn't been able to stop Bobby or help Sam, and with his wing injured he was little more than dead weight.  
  
He leaned his head against the glass wall and gingerly shifted his hurt wing. It would do him no good at all to let thoughts like that drag him even lower. Scar had to hope that his lessons with Sam would be enough for the younger knight to be able to adapt to the older knight's mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a post Wednesday, and then we'll be on a quick week-long hiatus while I'm away!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** March 25th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	12. Water the Sprite!

When morning came, Jacob was confused. He didn't remember checking into a motel at first, and his brow furrowed at the sight of the unfamiliar room. He sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes before finally noticing that he wasn't alone in the room, and things began to make more sense.  
  
Dean was still out cold on the other bed, taken down by the drugs from the hospital and by the exhaustion of the fight. His boots remained on, one leg hanging off the bed. Bowman remained curled up on Dean's chest, resting over his heart. The little guy had been through a lot on his own, and he was a heavy sleeper. Jacob didn't notice a reaction from either of them when he swung his legs off the bed and stood.  
  
His phone, left on the table, had a little green light blinking to show he had a missed call. His sore back and shoulders called louder to him, and he decided to grab a quick shower before seeing who tried to contact him. If he was in trouble with his mom, a few minutes wouldn’t make much difference, so he walked as lightly as he could to the room's small bathroom.  
  


* * *

  
The sound of rushing water was what finally pulled Dean out of his deep sleep. His eyelids fluttered, and he groaned. He knew where he was at first even less than Jacob had. The morphine combined with the deep exhaustion kept him from having any idea how the night had ended after going to the hospital.  
  
The sunlight leaking through the curtains was what finally got his eyes open, and he frowned in confusion.  
  
He was in a motel room.  
  
As normal as that might seem, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom furthered his confusion. He worked alone. Why was there someone in his room?  
  
He lay flat on the bed, blinking blearily and trying to remember more from the night before. _Did someone get the plates from that bus that ran me over?_  
  
Eventually he got enough energy to shift on the bed, and leaned up enough to discover the sling hanging from his arm. Dean dropped his head back onto the pillow. _That’s right._ Memories of the night before came flooding back. The demon possessing Jacob. Getting attacked and his arm snapped. Barely managing to call Bobby for help while Bowman was grabbed in a fist.  
  
 _Bowman!_  
  
Dean looked around, searching for the tiny sprite that had adopted him into the family long before he knew they even existed, and was shocked that Bowman wasn’t where he’d left him the night before. He could swear he remembered putting the sprite on the nightstand so he was safely out of range of any unthinking movements.  
  
Instead, there was a little green ball curled up right over Dean’s heart. A leafy wing formed a blanket for Bowman, and he slumbered peacefully on despite all Dean’s movements. Dean found himself watching the little guy, wondering if he could even try to get up, or if he’d wake Sam’s little brother when he did.  
  
Bowman didn't stir, but after a few minutes the sound of running water came to a stop with a subdued rattle of the pipes as they shut down. A few more minutes and Jacob emerged from the bathroom in the same clothes he'd had on, since he didn't have a change of clothes with him. He brushed his hand back through his hair to rid it of excess droplets of water.  
  
"Ah, you're awake," he finally noticed, seeing Dean's eyes open. With the hunter still lying in bed, he hadn't realized immediately.  
  
He picked up his phone from the table and confirmed that the missed call was indeed from his mom. He winced slightly but turned his focus back to Dean. "Looks like Bowman's still out," he remarked, not surprised in the least. "He sleeps like the dead. Is your ... is your arm feeling any better?"  
  
“Only a little,” Dean said, shaking his head. He froze up again when he saw Bowman’s tiny body shift in place from the movement, afraid of waking him. Dean was still recovering from the shock of waking to finding someone the size of his finger using him as a bed. It was the last thing he’d expected. He was _dangerous_ to them, especially when he didn’t even know they were _close_.  
  
“What am I supposed to do with him?” Dean whispered to Jacob. “Do we need to water him or something? You said he’s like a plant, right?”  
  
Jacob tried to subdue his smile, but really couldn't. He shook his head, biting back the temptation to agree with Dean and let him try and water the sprite. "Nah, he gets water the same way we do," he replied, stepping closer. One would think Dean was weighed down by a pile of rocks, with the way he held himself so still. He had no way of knowing that he could probably poke at Bowman several times in that state and the sprite still wouldn't wake.  
  
"Not saying it wouldn't be a creative way to wake him up, if you wanted to hear him gripe about it for a while," Jacob said with a smirk. "I think if you pick him up and move him he'll be fine. Might roll over and bitch, but that's about it."  
  
Jacob remembered Sam and Bowman sleeping at his campsite before. They had used Sam's glider as cover for themselves, and Bowman had slept like a stone throughout the night and a little into the morning. Sam had been the first awake out of everyone, keeping watch for his little brother by the time Jacob finally blinked himself awake.  
  
Dean nodded, still uncertain but taking Jacob’s word for it. He probably wouldn’t have risked waking the little guy otherwise, especially after the night they’d all had. Bowman needed his rest as much as anyone after his legs got injured during the struggle.  
  
As careful as he could, Dean shifted so he was sitting up more. Being down an arm made everything harder to do, and getting a sprite off his chest was no exception. He felt ridiculously big as his fingers drew close to Bowman. How in the world did these guys trust anyone so big? Especially enough to fall asleep in such a vulnerable position. Dean couldn’t imagine the trust that took, and he’d only met Bowman the day before. Sam, at least, had grown up with Dean and had those years to draw upon when he’d stood willingly on a hand that could eclipse his entire body.  
  
Bowman only had the stories of Dean he’d heard growing up, and Dean had to wonder what Sam had told them to make him so welcomed into the village. Even Jacob, after knowing them for months, hadn’t been invited in until Dean appeared.  
  
With gentle care, Dean leaned his body more and let Bowman roll right into his grasp. The tiny sprite’s body weighed almost nothing as Dean was finally able to sit up and stretch his back. Remembering what they’d talked about the night before, Dean scanned the room until he found a sunbeam that stretched its way onto the bed. He let Bowman down onto the cover in the light like Bowman had said.  
  
“Hard to believe everything that happened yesterday,” Dean said as he stood from the bed, wincing at the dull pain that made his arm throb.  
  
Bowman groaned as if in response to Dean's words, but he didn't say anything. True to Jacob's prediction, he merely rolled over sluggishly and adjusted his wings so they were at the best angle in the sunlight, and dozed off once more. The automatic response didn't even give the sprite time to notice that he'd been moved to a different spot before he was asleep again.  
  
Jacob watched Bowman for a second more before nodding in agreement. "I've been kinda shocked about everything since Bobby first clocked me with that branch," he admitted.  
  
It wouldn't be easy to forget the sight of his friend standing there just before the attack. Bobby had the strangest look in his eyes, and then suddenly Jacob's face erupted with pain. The lingering bruise twinged at the memory. The sight of Chase lying curled up on the ground unable to breathe came next, even in Jacob's concussed daze.  
  
Knowing that it had been a demon causing things didn't soften the memories, didn't make the fear any less real.  
  
"I'll have to check up with him in just a bit. Before that ... my mom is probably pissed, I didn't really tell her where I was going yesterday, and then everything happened ... I gotta come up with an alibi."  
  
Dean pursed his lips. He hadn’t really considered anything like that. It was easy to forget Jacob was just a teen after all they’d gone through in the last twenty four hours alone. In his entire life Dean had never had to explain himself like that to his dad. From a young age he’d been saddled with more responsibility than he should have been.  
  
“Let me know if you need some support,” Dean offered. He flashed his customary cocky smirk. “I’ve got more than a little experience with coming up with excuses. In my line of work, that’s every damn day.”  
  
Jacob grinned back, easily remembering Dean's first introduction just a day before. The official-looking but fake FBI badge, the suit, and the name _Jimmy Page_ were probably not the only "excuses" Dean had come up with in his line of work. It was a strange feeling, knowing he was working with someone who committed regular felonies.  
  
For months, Jacob had felt like he'd stumbled into something well over his head. Discovering Sam and Bowman had certainly brought some variety into his otherwise average life.  
  
Before he could come up with a suitable reason for going AWOL the day before, the phone buzzed in his hand. He looked at the caller ID and pursed his lips. "Here it goes, I guess."  
  
When he answered the call and lifted it to his ear, he barely made a sound before his mother started in on him, in a volume loud enough that Jacob guessed Dean would be able to pick up on. “ _Jacob! Where in God's name are you?! Are you okay? I got a call from Bobby's parents, he came home and said there was some psycho out in the woods and I haven't heard from you since you said you were waiting with Chase in the hospital. I called his house and his sister said you weren't around Jacob what-_ ”  
  
"Woah, woah," Jacob cut in, his cheeks and ears reddening a little. "I'm fine, I just ... wait, did you say Bobby said there was a psycho out there?"  
  
“ _He said the guy rushed up and attacked all three of you and he's so sorry for running off, he got scared. It makes so much more sense than him coming at you,_ ” she answered, and Jacob's brow furrowed as he glanced at Dean. There was no way that Jacob remembered it wrong. Bobby had lied to his parents and everyone else.  
  
“ _But don't think that means you're in the clear, young man. Where are you? I have a shift at the bookstore in 45 minutes, you know, but if I need to come get you and drag you home, I will_ do it, _am I clear, Jacob Andris?_ ”  
  
Jacob winced. "M-mom, I'm fine, I just ... I'm in town near Bobby's land, I..."  
  
Dean practically rolled his eyes at that. _Is that the best you can do?_ he mouthed at Jacob, wondering how such a bad liar had managed to keep the sprites and Sam a secret for so long. He held out a hand, a clearly expectant look on his face.  
  
Jacob handed over the cell phone sheepishly, and Dean held it up to his ear. “Ma’am?” he asked in an official voice, cutting off her tirade mid-sentence. Dean’s voice was gruff, hiding any sign of how young he was underneath his assumed guise as an FBI agent. Though he had almost a decade on Jacob, he was still young for some of his disguises. He’d discovered that by merely _acting_ like he belonged left most people willing to believe him.  
  
Confidence, as he always said, was key. Not stuttering like Jacob was doing. “Yes, hi. I’m agent Jimmy Page. Jacob’s been working with me to iron this entire situation out. We don’t want anyone else out there getting attacked while we catch this guy.”  
  
There was a stunned pause as the words sank in, and then Mariana started again in a calmer tone that was no less scolding than before. " _Agent, as in FBI? I suppose it makes sense that he is a key witness, agent, but next time I hope you'll remember to involve the parents when you're working with a minor. Even if it means just making sure he_ texts home."  
  
Jacob heard the last words clearly in his mother's subdued anger and knew he wasn't off the hook, not by a long shot. He sighed and spoke up. "I'm sorry, mom. I, uh, wasn't sure if I should say anything yet."  
  
Mariana sighed heavily and muttered out an epithet in Greek before addressing Dean once more in a quieter tone. " _He's lucky he's usually so good about keeping in touch_ ," she told him. " _Please just send him straight home when everything's all finished? If there's a madman out there hurting kids I don't want my baby anywhere near there._ "  
  
“Don’t you worry ma’am,” Dean said. His serious voice completely covered up the shit-eating grin that covered his face at her words. His own scolding rolled right off him. “I’ll make sure your little boy gets home safe and sound. Jacob’s been a huge asset in my investigation from the get-go. I wouldn’t have come this far without him.”  
  
Biting his lip to keep any laughter bottled up, Dean handed the phone back over to Jacob. “You can let her know we’ll have you back in time for curfew,” he had to snicker quietly, losing any sign of being serious.  
  
Jacob hadn't heard exactly what his mother said to Dean at the end of the call, but the snickering and the teasing told him plenty about the gist of it. He gave her another muttered apology and sheepish reassurance, then closed up the phone and shoved it into his pocket while giving Dean a flat look. It wasn't the first time someone had given him shit about it.  
  
Not that Jacob would ever want his mom to change. Family was family, and she was his.  
  
"You're hilarious," he answered with a roll of his eyes before glancing over at Bowman. Of course, the sprite still hadn't woken up completely yet. He had at least uncurled himself so his wings lay as wide as they could to soak up more sun.  
  
"So Bobby lied," Jacob said, getting right to what bothered him. "I'm not sure why he'd make up some other guy, except maybe to get himself off the assault charges. Unless... would the demon have messed with his memories or something when it hopped over to me instead?"  
  
Dean frowned at that. “Depends on the demon.” Technically, this was only his second case dealing with the black-eyed bastards. The rest of the information he was going off of was from his father, Bobby, and pastor Jim. Especially Bobby, from the way he’d been thrust into the hunting life.  
  
“Demons will hit you where it hurts most,” Dean said as he went over to the kitchenette. Even with only one arm he easily set it up to start percolating a pot of coffee. “Some victims black out. Others remember every last second. They won’t shy from lying to your face, but since they can read minds they _also_ have no problem telling you the painful truth. If Bobby’s lying, there’s a reason for it. Either something the demon did to him, or for some reason of his own.” Dean met Jacob’s worried gaze. “Whatever’s up, we’ve got to get to the bottom of it before I can declare this ‘case closed’.”   
  
He dug through his duffel, finding a cleaner set of clothing to wear. One way or the other, they would be leaving this motel behind them as fast as the Impala could drive.  
  
Jacob nodded mutely. The thought of a demon sweeping through his friend and then him to do as much damage as it could almost made him shudder. All over again, he remembered the feeling of Dean's arm breaking in his grasp. He frowned as he also remembered Bowman's frantic struggles against his grasp. If Jacob hadn't fought back ...  
  
"I'm gonna try to call him," he decided, pulling his phone back out of his pocket. "If he's home, he's probably got his cell charged up by now." He thumbed through the menu of his simple phone, seeking out his friend's number.  
  
Dean left Jacob to his call. He didn’t see Bowman stirring to the side on his way to the bathroom. He was too busy trying to figure out how the hell he was going to be able to get a shower without getting his arm wet. At least Jacob had brought his duffel in so he had clean clothing to wear.  
  
This whole being injured thing was already getting old.  
  
The sound of running water filled the room once more as the coffee pot continued to fill with a steady, dark drip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting will resume on April 5th! Don't let Dean water the sprite!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** April 5th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	13. A Coffee, a Mission, and Stories Along the Way

While Jacob attempted to get in touch with Bobby, Bowman noticed an unfamiliar but pleasant smell filling the room. He grumbled before pushing himself up on his hands and blinking owlishly at his surroundings.  
  
Corners, _angles,_ were everywhere. His bright green eyes widened, and in his startled confusion at how completely foreign everything was, he scrambled backwards. It didn't change a thing and he took a few breaths while everything came back to him.  
  
He pursed his lips and lifted up the edge of his shirt just enough to see the bruising forming on his side. He knew his legs would look even worse. Bowman sighed and dragged both hands down his face in an attempt to wake himself up faster.  
  
He looked around before getting his bearings enough to stand. Even then, it was a task because of the plush surface beneath him. He was on the biggest bed he'd ever seen. It felt almost excessive, but a glance at Jacob over near the door did give him pause.  
  
 _Humans are blasted big,_ his brain reminded him. _Too big._  
  
Jacob had his phone next to his ear. Sam and mostly Jacob had explained the device to him before, so Bowman watched him curiously. He wanted to see it in action, enabling Jacob to talk to someone far away. Seeing human things might never stop fascinating him.  
  
Instead, Jacob pulled the thing away from his ear and frowned at it. "Not answering," he mumbled.  
  
"What's not answering? Is your phone thing broken?" Bowman asked, opening his wings to shake them out before hopping into the air. He drifted closer to Jacob curiously, and the human's brown eyes zeroed in on him easily. There was no camouflage for Bowman here.  
  
"I was trying to call my friend who originally had the demon," Jacob replied. "He's not answering his phone. I tried a couple times."  
  
After what must have been the shortest shower known to man, the water turned off in the bathroom with a resounding _squeak_. The coffee pot had just finished filling as Dean came back out of the bathroom, wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans in place of his former layers. The sling hung easier from his shoulder after cleaning up and some of the swagger was back as he strolled over to the kitchenette.  
  
“Any luck?” Dean inquired as he grabbed the cups to pour out a drink for him and Jacob. He frowned at the realization that they had nothing for Bowman to use. Any cup in the room was big enough for the sprite to sit inside of.  
  
Bowman turned towards Dean while pointing at the phone in Jacob's hand. "His phone's not answering," he replied.  
  
"Bobby's not answering _his_ phone," Jacob corrected mildly, smirking when Bowman waved off his words. "I called a few times, got nothing. It'd be worth going to check on him."  
  
Bowman, having missed the earlier conversation about Bobby, also missed the tension in Jacob's demeanor over the missing friend. He nodded in agreement before drifting towards the kitchenette to see what Dean was working on.  
  
"Is that stuff what the smell is coming from?" he asked curiously.  
  
Dean nodded as he sat down at the table. “It’s coffee, and it’s good,” he supplied helpfully. It was apparent how eager Bowman was to learn no matter where they went. He had a constant stream of questions about the world around him and Dean had a feeling Sam had been fielding questions like that his entire life since the curse.  
  
It wasn’t hard to find a plastic spoon with the few supplies they had in the kitchenette. “This might not be the best way to drink but I don’t have much else to work with for ya,” Dean admitted as he filled up the spoon and placed it near the sprite. He glanced over at Jacob. “Until we know for sure that Bobby’s not still a danger, we need to focus on him, and save helping the knights search for Sam and Scar for after. Once everyone’s ready, we head to Bobby’s. I’m guessin’ you know the way to his house?”  
  
Jacob bobbed his head in confirmation while Bowman landed near the spoon to investigate the coffee. "Yup, same small town as me, I go over there all the time," he said, grabbing his own cup of coffee. He added a packet of sugar to it to weaken the bracing bitterness of the dark drink.  
  
Bowman, by contrast, didn't think to add anything to it. He crouched in front of the huge spoon, a spoon nearly big enough to be a seat for him, to observe the liquid pooled in it. The aroma and the heat wafting off of it invited him in.  
  
He pulled back his sleeves slightly to make sure they wouldn't get any coffee on them, and then cupped his hands into the warm drink. It nearly scalded his fingertips, but he weathered the heat and lifted the liquid to his lips to try it. Bowman's wings twitched with curiosity, and then appreciation for the taste.  
  
"That stuff is pretty good," he determined, brushing his hands off the best he could over the spoon. Jacob, standing near the table, pushed a napkin towards Bowman while also sipping at his own brew, and Bowman had his hands cleaned in no time. "Reminds me of pine tea."  
  
“I don’t think I could live without it,” Dean said as he drank his own, leaving it as black as Bowman’s was. It was the only way to drink coffee, as far as he was concerned. It helped to restore his energy along with the refreshing dunk in the shower and an actual night of rest, even if it _had_ been drugged. They would need to be at the top of their game with Sam missing and Bobby acting strange. There wasn’t time to waste.  
  
On that note, Dean did his best to ignore the scalding temperature as he drank down the rest of his coffee. Sam needed them and the only barrier in their way to going to search for him was making sure Bobby was okay and the demon hadn’t left any other surprises for them during its possession of the teen.  
  
“Almost ready to blow this joint?” he asked, glancing around to see what they might have in the room. He didn’t remember a lot of the night before after they’d arrived at the hospital, including what he might have done in the room before conking out.  
  
Jacob could see Bowman narrowing his little eyes at Dean, trying to figure out the meaning of the phrase he'd used. He smirked and took another quick drink of the hot coffee before setting aside his cup. "Yeah, I'd say so. The sooner we get this figured out, the better."  
  
Bowman turned to look up at Jacob and frowned faintly. He still didn't get what "blow this joint" had to do with getting their journey underway, but then again sprites had phrases like that, too. He chose not to ask, not wanting to look ignorant when he was already surrounded by the unfamiliar.  
  
"Let's get going," he agreed, his wings fluttering as he took to the air and drifted upwards in a slow spiral.  
  
Jacob smirked. "Now that you're finally awake, you mean?"  
  
"Shut it, you," Bowman shot back, crossing his arms while he hovered at eye level to the humans. "I'm plenty awake, thank you _very_ much."  
  
“Especially once that coffee takes effect,” Dean pointed out with a grin. “That’s what it’s made for. Waking you up.” He stood and stretched his arm, and discovered he could move his hand on the broken arm. That was promising, and gave him a slight bounce in his step as he went to gather his stuff.  
  
The dirty clothes got packed into the duffel bag and Dean stuck his Colt handgun in the back of his pants. There was no way of knowing if he’d need it at any time so he strove to keep it on hand.  
  
Dean slung his jacket over his shoulder. “Since we’re _all_ awake now, it’s time to get to the bottom of what Bobby’s up to and then go find Sam.” The second he knew what was up with Bobby and could finally end the case, he would only be focused on getting Sam back.  
  
He had to trust that in the meantime, the other sprites would do their best. Sam was one of theirs, in a way.  
  
Jacob nodded. He wanted to check on Bobby, and there was always a chance that he had seen what happened to Sam. He might have been conscious while the demon taunted Jacob, watching it slam him into the tree. Jacob knew from his own time as a prisoner in his head that it could be a scary thing to witness.  
  
"Stick close, Bowman," Jacob advised as he picked up the duffel bag for Dean. "There's not as much green around to hide in."  
  
"Unfortunately," Bowman groused, glancing at the bright light leaking around the curtains on the window. His vibrant green wings would practically glow with that much unhindered sunlight on them. Even a shoulder ran some risks of being seen.  
  
Luckily, there was another option. The cloth sling that the clinic had given Dean left plenty of space for an added passenger, and Bowman drifted downwards from eye level to observe the arm. Pointing at it, he looked up at Dean. "If I land to hide on your arm, will it hurt?"  
  
“Hm?” Confused, Dean glanced between Bowman and the place he was pointing at. It took a moment for him to figure out that Bowman actually wanted to _hide_ in his sling. He still hadn’t quite caught up to the entire size-thing with Sam and Bowman and it was undeniably odd to consider himself as having hiding places like that on him.  
  
It didn’t look like it would be a problem, considering how small Bowman was. Dean could probably have Sam hiding in there with the sprite and never notice their weight. His arm was practically thicker than either of them was tall, broken or not. “Dude, you weigh as much as a _feather,_ ” Dean said dryly. “I don’t think you could hurt the arm if you tried.” He tilted his shoulder so the sling was held out to Bowman in welcome. “Hop on in.”  
  
Bowman tucked his wings close to dart the last few inches and land on Dean's injured arm. Even after the assurance that he probably wouldn't hurt it, Bowman tread carefully on the wrapped limb. There was no complaint from the human above, so he took it as a good sign and hid himself in the sling, crouched down on an arm much bigger than his entire body. It even gave him a decent angle to watch where Dean might walk without having to lean too far out to peek. “I’m not as light as a feather,” he pointed out, milder than the contrariness might imply, just to make his stance known.  
  
Jacob arched his eyebrows, impressed with the effective hiding place Bowman had picked out. He doubted anyone would notice the sprite there unless they walked right up to Dean to peek, and with Dean's intensity, that wasn't a likely occurrence.  
  
"Alright, let's get going," Jacob announced, finally opening the door. Bright sunlight and a pleasant breeze burst into the room. It was a beautiful day that had no bearing on the tasks ahead of them.  
  
The Impala shone in the sunlight, waiting for them right outside the door. She looked even more fierce in the daylight, and Jacob had a feeling he'd make a bit of a splash rolling back into his hometown driving that. "I get the feeling she won't have any trouble testing the speed limits on the way," he commented as he returned the duffel bag to the backseat.  
  
“Not with Sam waiting for us when we get back,” Dean agreed as he got in on his own side. With Bowman nestled away on his arm, the sprite was barely noticeable aside from an occasional shift that fluttered against his arm. Little and vulnerable, and relying on the two humans for as long as he was out of his native forest where he could blend into the surroundings.  
  
Dean hoped the trust wasn’t misplaced. Until they got Bowman back to his home, they were responsible for him.  
  
That was Sam’s little brother, after all. Tiny enough to squirrel away in a sling or a pocket.  
  
“The Impala wants Sam back just as much as I do, dontcha, baby?” Dean asked as he brushed a hand along the dashboard before he leaned back. The resounding growl as Jacob turned the key certainly seemed to be in agreement with his words.  
  
Bowman inched out of his hiding spot as the sound of the car rumbled around them. When Jacob put the car in motion, Bowman gripped the edge of the sling with one hand while his wings twitched restlessly. A lot more restlessly than he was used to, if he was honest.  
  
He knew they were clear after a few lurching turns of the Impala that nearly sent him toppling off of the curved surface of Dean's arm. Bowman huffed and opened his wings to flutter to the dashboard instead. He stumbled when he landed, not used to the ground under his feet rumbling so much.  
  
The world sped by around them, so much faster than Bowman could fly. He didn't get to see that so easily the night before. Now, fences and wide, _square_ fields interspersed with the occasional blocky human dwelling flashed by the windows on either side.  
  
"How far away is it?" he asked, looking over at Jacob.  
  
Jacob glanced at the sprite before putting his eyes back on the road. So long as Bowman wasn't fluttering around in front of the driver side, things would be fine. "It might be a drive of a few hours, but I'll go as fast as I can."  
  
Dean beckoned to Bowman. He might be useless as far as driving was concerned but he could try and keep Bowman from getting into trouble. Or fluttering in front of Jacob and getting them _all_ into trouble. “Why don’t you hang with me for the ride? I’m sure you’ve got a few good stories about Sam growing up. I might even be able to think of something to tell you. We got into enough trouble when we were kids, at least until he vanished.”  
  
Bowman tore his gaze away from the windshield and the sky beyond it to peer over at Dean. He had to smirk before he glided back across the canyon of the front seat, taking his spot on the back of the seat once more. His wings splayed out just like the last time he perched there, though they shifted more with the coffee taking its effect on him.  
  
"If there's any story you gotta hear, it's the time we got caught taking all the honeycomb from the storeroom..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaaack!
> 
> The previous week was a success, so far no one has gotten sick from the move we had to do cross-country, and everyone is safely back at home, quarantined with Animal Crossing: New Horizons. (It's! Addicting!)
> 
> Looks like Dean and Jacob have their shit together at last, so they're hitting the road! More to come on Wednesday~
> 
> **Next:** April 8th, 2020 at 9pm EST.
> 
> Comments and kudos are looooove! I'm gonna be catching up on the comments I haven't replied to yet this week!


	14. Resistance

Bobby sighed heavily as he trudged up the stairs towards his room. The early morning had been filled with griping matches with his parents, and then an interview with the damn _police_ , to describe the "total psycho" that had attacked him and his friends at their campsite. His mom had wanted him to go to the hospital to get checked out like Chase and Jacob, but Bobby refused.  
  
It was all just so stressful, after all, and he'd rather just stay inside on his own for a while. He couldn't even face his friends, after running off on them like that.  
  
They all bought it, of course. Some false tears at the edges of his eyes, a haunted look at his time lost out in the woods, and they knew he could have done no wrong. It was a trick that the demon had helped him develop. It was incredibly handy and it gave him a bit of a thrill to pull people's strings like that.  
  
Even so, he was glad they left so he could finally focus on what actually interested him. He opened the door to his room and smirked at the tall jar still sitting on his desk where he left it. He ambled over, dragging the jar close to the edge of the desk so he could loom over the prisoners inside of it as he leered in at them. It was amusing to see how the lurching container knocked them off balance.  
  
"You just missed the circus, guys. Too bad."  
  
Sam sent Bobby a flat look back. His eyes were more haunted than they’d been the night before. Shadows lurked at the edges. Sleep was fleeting in a container like this, and the constant scent of vinegar around them didn’t help.  
  
He avoided a total glare, hoping to avoid antagonizing Bobby over something so stupid. Sam was pretty sure he was already going to piss the human off in some way just by existing, might as well try and tone down how _much_ he pissed him off.  
  
Sam wasn’t a sprite, after all. How dare he waste Bobby’s time.  
  
None of that stopped Sam from sending Bobby a completely unamused smile that didn’t reflect in his eyes. “That’s too bad. I always wanted to meet the bearded lady.”  
  
Bobby snickered, just as unamused as Sam but playing along. He didn't bother to reward the quip with one of his own, and instead grabbed the edge of the jar and turned away from his desk, bringing Sam and Scar with him out of the room.  
  
Scar winced as the abrupt motion knocked his injured wing against one of the glass walls around him. Thankfully, Sam's splint work held. His wing was held at a slightly uncomfortable angle, and the area around the wrist had swollen, but nothing came loose.  
  
"Just what are you planning now?" he called up, before grimacing again and trying to brace himself as Bobby walked down the stairs. It felt like he made his steps as jostling as he could on purpose.  
  
The jar lifted up a little so Bobby could look in at them. "Gotta find a better cage for you two," he told them. "And, while I'm figuring that out, I think some education might be in order. Don't want to repeat that wing, do we?"  
  
“Yeah, if you’re not careful we’ll run out of limbs to threaten,” Sam mimed back in annoyance as the burning on his neck increased. It was almost painful after being stared at by Bobby the last day.  
  
Between both Jacob and Dean, not once had the sixth sense that Sam had discovered been dialed up to such a painful intensity. It left him realizing that it didn’t _only_ serve to tell him that he was being watched… it also told him that he was in _danger._ His friends would never hurt him, and Sam knew that with a certainty that only Rischa or Cerul could meet.  
  
He _knew_ it, just like he knew right now that Bobby didn’t care if they got hurt.  
  
“Did you already plan out all our lessons?” Sam shot up at the human.   
  
At the bottom of the steps, Bobby's grip tightened on the rim of the jar. The whole thing vibrated with his nearly-fulfilled urge to shake the container back and forth. However, the sprite really could end up with more damage on that wing than Bobby wanted, so he decided to wait on his punishment for the little sprite lookalike.  
  
He'd figure out how to crack them both. It shouldn't be too hard. They were small, and, despite all that defiance, _everyone_ had a limit.  
  
He arrived in the kitchen and the jar struck the table at an angle before Bobby finally tilted it over on its side once more. "Come on out," he demanded. "I'm guessing you gotta have something to eat and drink."  
  
"How kind of him," Scar muttered, getting to his feet after falling onto the side of the jar. The thought of taking an order from the wretch made his skin crawl, but there were few other choices. Scar knew as well as Sam that the human seemed to favor the younger knight less. If there was anything Scar could do about it, he wouldn’t let Sam suffer.  
  
Sam followed Scar out, hating every step he took. If Bobby was planning on separating them, they were making it a thousand times easier for him by leaving the glass confines. As shaky as their situation was in the jar, Bobby had at least avoided hurting Scar _more._  
  
When they were both standing on the table, Sam took a deep breath of fresh air. Even if it was only for a few minutes, he enjoyed the lack of stinging vinegar against his throat. A new cage might trap them more effectively, but having a hard time breathing was no way to live.  
  
Turning in place, Sam took a moment to assess the kitchen and search for good places to hide if they got a chance. It was a shock to see the towering appliances, but the warm sunlight was welcome. Strangely, it felt like he belonged on the outside world more than in this place of human things. He was as much of an outsider as Scar now.  
  
Once they were out of the jar, Bobby lifted it back up and set it aside. He leaned down to stare curiously at them, still not over his fascination with his finds, no matter how much he'd wanted to find them for most of his life. He reached out a hand, aiming to brush it against Scar's injured wing as the briefest flash of concern darted across his mind, but the sprite stepped back, turned away to hide his wings, and held his hands up warily.  
  
Bobby smirked, but drew his hand back. "Guess that lesson stuck," he said smugly, before turning to one of the cabinets in the room to rummage around for something to feed the pair of them. It wouldn't do any good to starve them.  
  
Scar let out a disgruntled sigh once the human's back was turned to them. It was barely a relief, having him look away, but it was enough. Scar glanced around at everything, and nothing was familiar. Huge boxes with wide doors hung from the ceiling, and when Bobby opened them they were revealed to be some kind of hanging storage rooms.  
  
A wide, eerily straight-edged counter ran along two walls, and Scar had no name or concept at all for the things littered atop it. The window let in the cheerful sunlight through curtains patterned with flowers, and below it was a silvery basin with one long metal arm reaching over it. A boxy contraption taller than even Bobby whirred in one corner.  
  
"This blasted place doesn't even feel like earth," Scar admitted quietly, a frown deepening on his face.  
  
A strange, crackling sound from above drew his attention. The human had retrieved a wrapped pile of what looked like round breads, and he opened up the strange paper around them to retrieve one. The first, he popped into his own mouth, and the next he lowered to the two prisoners before setting the package aside.  
  
"That should be more than you even need," Bobby pointed out after finishing his own cracker, as if he'd given them their weight in gold.  
  
“All part of a balanced meal,” Sam snipped quietly as he reached out to take the cracker, sizing up how obnoxiously big it seemed after watching someone eat a similar cracker in one bite.  
  
The damn thing was the size of his torso, at least.  
  
Sam sat down on the counter and broke off a piece for him and a piece for Scar. “They’re made from grains,” he told the sprite as he bit off a piece of his own. The sprites of Wellwood were vegetarians, and he knew sometimes it could be hard to tell what certain foods were in the human world he was from.  
  
As he ate through the salted snack, Sam’s eyes flashed from side to side to observe the room around them. He did his best to avoid glancing at Bobby. Words from another life rose in his mind. _Microwave. Refrigerator. Toaster._ All objects that had no place in the sprite’s worldview.  
  
“It’s been so long I forgot what it was like,” Sam said softly to Scar. “And now I don’t think I fit in with any of it anymore.” He lowered his eyes. This was his brother’s world, and he didn’t fit in.  
  
Scar stared dubiously at the food in his hand before taking a seat and nibbling at it. He hadn't realized that his stomach was pining for something, an empty feeling in his core since sometime in the night. Even now, with the sunlight shining into the room without any knowledge of how grim two of its occupants were, Scar's good wing was shifting to a better angle to capture some of the golden rays.  
  
While they ate, Bobby crossed the room with unconcerned strides to retrieve a cup from another cabinet, the shortest one he could find. It was still almost up to Scar's shoulders. He crossed to the basin by the window and Scar's eyes widened briefly at the way water surged out of the long metal arm with merely a flick of a lever.  
  
"Don't worry," Scar said back to him. "You're far and away ahead of me." Sam, at least, knew the names for most if not all of the things in the room. Scar felt as out of place as he could in a place like this.  
  
Their sad musings were cut short when the newly-filled cup of water was set down roughly a few inches from where they sat. Bobby didn't even say anything. He merely stepped back and went to the fridge to find himself something to snack on, demonstrating that, even with all of his fascination with them, they were just oddities that he could put aside whenever he wanted.  
  
Sam watched Bobby’s movements, finding those moments when the human’s eyes were off him a relief. It gave his neck enough time for some of the burn to wear off. Maybe if they were out of sight of Bobby for an hour, it would leave completely.  
  
He could hope.  
  
Taking a last bite of the cracker, Sam got up and brushed off his hands. He carefully scooped a drop of water between cupped hands and sipped at it. He paid no mind to Bobby, relying on his sixth sense to know when Bobby’s attention turned back towards them.  
  
“I’d love a chance to show it all to you,” Sam said morosely he sat back down to finish off his drink. “It’s not all bad. It really isn’t.”  
  
Scar smiled grimly. "If nothing else, Bowman will want a tour of it all," he pointed out. Bowman had grown up with stories from Sam about the world beyond the woods. There were plenty of sprites that knew one or two things about the world Sam had come from.  
  
Most importantly, Scar knew, Sam had come from a world far different from what was described in the Archives. They were out of date, even with Bobby's harsh treatment.  
  
"We will get through it," he determined, standing to retrieve his own drink. It was awkward and cumbersome, reaching over the edge of the glass. He wasn't quite as tall as Sam, and his injury complained when he stretched himself out to complete the task.  
  
Scar didn't even have a chance to back up more than a few steps from the cup before Bobby turned back to them and strode over. He picked up the glass and downed the rest of the water in a few gulps that nearly put Scar off the desire to quench his own thirst. _If only I still had poisons with me._  
  
Bobby set the cup down heavily and, with little warning, poked Scar right in the stomach. It was much harsher than expected, and he let out a _huff_ of air while the remaining water in his hands splashed onto his jacket. Bobby snickered above them while Scar turned a glare reserved for stubborn predators towards the surface beneath his feet.  
  
"Looks like you two got enough," Bobby quipped above them. He laid a hand flat on the counter. "Time to check the hall closet and see if my mom still has the birdcage from when she used to have a finch. Should be enough for you two. It even has a swing for the butterfly, here."  
  
Sam’s lips thinned at the thought of being placed in a birdcage like a pet, but he didn’t say a word of protest. Just thinking of them sitting in a cage like that was cutting enough, but Sam knew it was possible to get out if they put their minds to it. Pet cages were good for animals, but when the animals were sapient it became a hell of a lot harder to keep them inside. If parrots could escape, Sam and Scar should be able to scrape something together between the two of them.  
  
He’d learned a trick or two from his family before the curse. Their specialty was getting into places they weren’t supposed to be. It would serve him well getting _out_.  
  
Sam stepped up onto Bobby’s hand, doing his best to not think about what he was doing. Putting himself _willingly_ into a dangerous human’s grasp… Sam held out his arms for balance and glanced over at Scar to make sure he didn’t need any help, as off balance as he was with one wing bound.  
  
Bobby raised an eyebrow at Scar. "You too, sprite," he told him, even curling his fingers upwards in an impatient beckon. He wasn't about to waste both hands on carrying them. He needed one free to open doors and prepare the cage before he dropped them in.  
  
Scar, still seething and bristled with rage that he couldn't unleash in any way, stepped towards the hand haltingly. He didn't want to step onto it any more than Sam did. He didn't even know what a birdcage was supposed to _look_ like, but their place had already been decided.  
  
The surface of a hand was strange to walk on. After only being crushed and gripped in a fist, this was Scar's first time trying it. He nearly toppled over when Bobby lifted his hand abruptly away from the counter.  
  
"Hey, don't go tumbling, now," Bobby warned. "I doubt that one wing will catch you."  
  
"And whose fault is it I only have the one," Scar muttered, shifting closer to the palm of Bobby's hand while the human turned towards a huge archway out of the room.  
  
"Watch it," Bobby said absently even as he ambled towards a hall closet door. He lifted his hand up to eye level to glare at both of them with icy blue eyes that held no remorse for his actions. "I can hear pretty well but, gosh, I wouldn't be able to help it if I dropped you. Think your wingless pal would last?" His thumb nudged at Sam pointedly.  
  
Sam twitched away from the thumb in frustration. “That might actually be a threat if I was afraid of _heights!_ ” he snapped up at the human, wishing he had _anywhere_ else to go that wasn’t in Bobby’s hand.  
  
He was of half a mind to just jump, but he already knew he’d get grabbed back up. Dean had proved that Sam couldn’t even get far from a human before being snatched back up, and Scar would get jostled if that happened.  
  
It pissed him off to no end that even the lighthearted teasing with Dean the day before now stung, remembering how _fast_ a human could move. Sam clung to the surprised and worried look on Dean’s face. Dean never meant to make them feel _small_ like this. He was just trying to watch after Sam and didn’t know how to do it.  
  
That didn’t change anything right now though.  
  
Sam slapped at the thumb in annoyance. “If Scar’s wing gets injured more you won’t have much of a sprite,” he growled, protective of his teacher.  
  
Bobby's look was simply cold. There was nothing else to show he had a particular reaction to Sam's words, except for the frigid cold behind his eyes. Without further words, he turned to the hall closet and wrenched the door open.  
  
Coats and boxes and knick knacks filled the space, and even a vacuum cleaner was tucked away behind the coats, its base showing on the dusty hardwood floor. Bobby swept aside some coats to reveal another object sitting next to it.  
  
The birdcage was one of the old-fashioned, overly-ornate types. It had a tall domed top and metal bars painted in white that had chipped in several places. There was still some leftover straw lining from the bird that used to live in it at the bottom. Bobby leaned to grab the handle on top and dragged the cage out, nudging the door closed again with an elbow.  
  
The door to the cage was already hanging open, so without further ado, Bobby stuffed his hand inside to dump Sam and Scar onto the floor of their latest prison. The sprite let out a grunt of pain, but thankfully didn't land on his hurt wing.  
  
Sam, however, didn't even get a chance to get his bearings before a thumb and finger pinched around one leg and dragged him back out again, bringing him before those cold eyes. "Looks like you're _relapsing,_ squirt. Lemme make it as clear as I can: you _don't_ have a say here. Get it?"  
  
Sam didn’t say a word back. He hung in place, beyond thankful that his uniform was modified to catch him if he fell. The long, fluffy brown hair he was so proud of nearly covered his eyes completely, which was a good thing while he glared in place. His arms were crossed, but one hand clenched in pain. Bobby’s grip wasn’t gentle, and bruises on his leg would be joining the bruises on his chest.  
  
Bobby scoffed, a smirk on his face. He moved his hand slightly, just enough to make Sam sway in his grip. That stubborn countenance still irked him. He wanted to know _what_ made the little guy so bold when he had literally no power with Bobby or any human. He was too small and weak to make a real impact.  
  
"Stop it," Scar spoke up, unable to watch the casual abuse any longer. He sat on the floor of the cage, wbraced on his hands, and his eyes were focused on the young man hanging by one leg for the simple amusement of a power-drunk giant. Scar's pride was not worth it. It asn't worth seeing the boy he'd kept watch over for so long get hurt. "Stop this, please."  
  
Bobby raised his eyebrows. "Are you _begging,_ hot shot?"  
  
"Yes," Scar shot back, his resentment toned down. "I am. For his life and safety, I am begging you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam has that stubborn Winchester streak in him.
> 
> **Next:** April 12th, 2020 at 9pm EST.
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!


	15. The Gang's All... Here?

Bobby chuckled, but he did return Sam to the cage, setting him down instead of letting him drop on his head. "That's some excellent progress, sprite. We'll assume you're going to behave for now, and see how it goes." They were moving again, down the hallway to who knew where, and Bobby was so unconcerned with his captives being able to escape that he hadn't even latched the cage door yet.  
  
But Scar wasn't watching their surroundings. His concern was focused on the knight beside him. "Are you hurt?" he asked Sam quietly.  
  
Sam shook his head. “It’s just bruises,” he replied just as quietly. He shifted so he was sitting next to Scar, warily watching Bobby like he was expecting to get snatched up all over again. Those massive hands got nothing but suspicion from the young knight as he watched them from inside the cage.  
  
Once Sam was certain Bobby wasn’t going to pull a 180 and grab him again, he brought his leg close and rolled up the cuff. The boots had helped guard him from some of the bruising, but there were already dark splotches running up to his knee. With a wince, he gingerly stretched out the leg and pushed the cuff down so Bobby wouldn’t latch onto it as yet another way to lord over them.  
  
The human’s swaying walk drew Sam’s attention next, and he watched their surroundings pass by with an intent eye in the hopes of giving himself some sort of idea of how the house was set up.  
  
Passing the kitchen again, Bobby briefly went through a living room. The cheery decor in the immaculately-organized room was, once again, a strange contrast to the situation both knights had been taken into. Scar might have been curious about the gigantic furnishings and things in the room, but he could only glare sullenly as it all passed them by.  
  
Bobby chose the study, through a door just off the living room. There was a large desk and several shelves lined with books, file folders, and some statues and trophies. A window showed a view of the expansive backyard. Bobby set the cage on the desk and took the chair, blocking the outdoors from view.  
  
While Bobby checked the drawers of the desk for something, Scar glanced around the room, his good wing fanning nervously. The room wasn't any more square than the others, but it felt much more overwhelmingly foreign, especially seen through cage bars.  
  
Bobby spoke absently while he searched for something. "This is dad's office. I'd get used to the wallpaper, 'cause once he sees you guys he'll probably want this thing," he flicked the bars absently, "kept in here."  
  
Sam flinched at the loud clang that rang through them and vibrated their world. It passed and he went back to staring blankly at their surroundings. The thought of another human having his hands on them was anathema, but it might end up being their only escape from Bobby’s harsh treatment.  
  
“Scenic,” he quipped, his tone flat and humorless. “Could use some fresh air though.”  
  
"Yeah, you would complain about it, wouldn't you," Bobby grumbled, still opening the drawers on the desk and rifling through the things in them.  
  
Scar glanced at the unlocked cage door and noticed that Sam's strength would probably be enough to push it open. He would just need a little boost and he could push the door right open. Suddenly it became clear what Bobby was looking for; he needed something to secure their door.  
  
"You understand that we're not accustomed to being caged up, don't you?" Scar asked steadily. When Bobby glared in his direction for a moment, there was no sign of snark on his face. It was merely an observation. "You can't blame us for being restless."  
  
"I'll blame you for whatever I like," Bobby answered with a smirk, before finally sitting up straight with something pinched in his fingers. "But I doubt you can do more than rattle the bars."  
  
Scar watched the strange black-and-silver thing in Bobby's fingers warily. With an increase in pressure on the two silver extensions on it, the black part opened up. This he clamped over the top of the cage door, clipping it to the cage itself so it wouldn't be so easy for Sam to shove open. It was also high out of their reach.  
  
"Nice and cozy," Bobby determined, though there was no sign that he really cared about their comfort in the dusty old cage. "Maybe if you're good I'll even give you something to sleep on."  
  
Sam watched the new clip on their door, a poker face to rival Dean’s in place to keep his thoughts from showing.  
  
If he could reach that, he could get it open.  
  
It wouldn’t be easy, but he was confident in his strength and his grip. He’d climbed the home trees before (to the chagrin of the sprites around him). If he ever got a hand on a sprite, they couldn’t pull away (to the chagrin of Bowman when he was trying to sleep in). Sam had taken on all the other knights one after the other at arm wrestling and bested them all. It wasn’t a stretch to call him the strongest knight in Wellwood.  
  
Now, he could put that to use.  
  
“We’ll need our beauty rest if you want to show us off,” Sam pointed out, glancing away from the clip that trapped them. “Can’t have us all bruised and beaten and exhausted at the same time, right?”  
  
Bobby's hand twitched, and the corner of his mouth followed suit a full second later. He looked ready to unleash a retort, while also barely refraining from knocking the cage to the floor. He opened his mouth to sling another insult Sam's way.  
  
And then the doorbell rang.  
  
It was the fancier kind, with several melodic chimes echoing in the halls. Scar's gaze whipped towards the door while Bobby's flickered lazily in the direction of the front of the house. It could be a delivery or maybe even some cop coming to fact-check him. He couldn't leave either waiting without dealing with more interruptions later.  
  
"I'll deal with you in a minute," Bobby warned ominously as he stood. He stepped hurriedly around the desk and, mere seconds later, he was gone, his footsteps echoing away down the hall.  
  
Scar sighed heavily before finally pushing himself to his feet. Standing when Bobby was nearby seemed pointless; the human took every chance he could to knock them down. He thought it made him seem bigger, but in truth, Scar thought less of him every time, and he didn't start out with a great opinion of the boy.  
  
"Sam, that ... thing on the door. Could you move it?"  
  
Sam took a deep breath as he followed, relishing in the moments he was free of Bobby’s scrutiny. Then, he focused on the task at hand while the burn on his neck slowly faded. “Yeah, I could,” Sam told Scar with a smile blossoming on his face. “And I’ll even know when Bobby’s coming back.”  
  
The study offered them plenty of places to hide. All they had to do was get out and get off the table. With the bright color of their uniforms, and Scar’s vivid green wings, they’d need to find cover instantly, but once they were out there was a chance. Then all they had to find was a door or a crack or an open window and they could _escape_.  
  
Sam stared up at the clip that stood in their way, gauging how high up it was. “I can do it.” He was confident in that, at least. “I just have to reach it.”  
  
Scar let himself chuckle briefly, a short sound that carried his pride with it. He remembered discovering that Sam held strength much greater than any sprite. It was one of his fondest memories, seeing his youngest student besting all of the veteran knights one by one in a test of strength. Lessons like that didn’t come every day, and he loved a chance to shake things up among the fighters.  
  
Striding to the door, Scar knelt, lacing his hands together and beckoning Sam to him with his good wing. "I can at least make that happen," he assured Sam. Scar might not be as strong, or at his full strength by any means, but he would weather what he needed to to get them out of there.  
  
Bobby's voice started up in the distance, greeting whomever had called him away. "I will thank the Spirit for their timing if we make it."  
  
“You and me both,” Sam agreed darkly. He stepped up and let Scar boost him into the air with effort. Two hands clamped around the metal bars that made up their cage. If the cage was for a larger bird they would be able to just slip right out. Despite his small size his grip was like steel and Sam latched right on.  
  
It took a moment for him to find a better position to reach the clip, and Sam went to reach out and grab it…  
  
Then the voice of the person who was talking to Bobby started up, and Sam fumbled his grip and nearly slipped down.  
  
 _Dean?!_  
  
A rush of emotion hit Sam at the familiar rumble and tears pricked at the sides of his eyes. “Dean,” he echoed his thoughts, unable to articulate further than his brother’s name. “Dean!”  
  
Scar wobbled and gasped. He could barely hear the voice out there through his focus on the task at hand. He was not built for lifting things for long periods of time, and though he had the strength in him to hold Sam up, he didn't want to risk letting him fall by shaking too much.  
  
"Sam," he said, his voice mildly strained. "The door. We can try to get to him." It was their one chance. If Dean was _there,_ then they had to try to get his attention.  
  
There wouldn't be another opportunity before Bobby came back to retaliate against Sam for his latest snarky comment, and Scar didn't want to think about what might happen.  
  
“Right.” Sam turned his attention to the task at hand, his determination renewed. If Dean caught sight of them, it wouldn’t matter if Bobby was in the way. Whatever reason the hunter had paid the teen a house call for, it would all change in a second if he knew they were inside.  
  
If there was anyone in the world they could rely on, it was Dean.  
  
Sam slung one arm through the bars and one on the inside. The metal of the clip was cool to the touch as he worked his fingers between the sides.  
  
Then, he pulled.  
  
There was no obvious reaction at first. Sam grunted, his ribs straining in pain at the effort. The metal started to give, then an opening formed. Sweat dripped down Sam’s forehead, and he pushed the clip so it wasn’t over the door of the cage, then let it go with a snap.  
  
The metal clip flew away from the cage, falling to the ground with a clatter. Sam felt himself slump down against the door, taking a second to catch his breath.  
  
Dean’s voice echoed in the background. _Need to get to him._  
  
Scar kept his gaze fixed upward even as he crouched down again to let Sam to the floor. His uninjured wing quivered, and the one bound with sword belts ached. Scar's body had been through a lot in the last twenty four hours.  
  
Nothing he couldn't handle. Life could be tough for a knight, but he would never stop fighting if he saw the opportunity.  
  
He had to shove aside whatever thoughts tried to encroach to distract him. What Bobby might do if he caught them, what they'd do next. It was all irrelevant. For now, they needed to get the door of the cage open.  
  
Scar put his hands on the bars to scan the top of the desk around them. "Do you think the sides are climbable?" he asked, deferring to the expert in that department. Sam, who had no wings of his own, had become far more skilled at climbing than most of the knights ever bothered. Scar had some practice with it, but he too had fallen into taking the easy way out more often than not. Wings were there for a reason.  
  
Sam stood on his tip toes and shoved at the door of the cage. It didn’t go willingly, but it pushed open with a squeak of protest. He eyed up the edges of the desk as he perched half in, half out of the cage. “Probably like climbing a sheer cliff,” he gauged. “I didn’t get a chance to see if there’s any carvings on the side.” Locking himself in place with a boot between the bars, Sam held out a hand to help Scar with his injured wing up and pointed with his other hand.  
  
“We’re climbing that.”  
  
There was a lamp, a fancy one with ornate carvings along the metal column, standing on the corner of the desk and tilted towards the clear area. Behind it, a power cord curled over the edge of the desk.  
  
Scar took Sam’s offered hand and clambered over the edge of the doorway, planting his boots on the surface of the desk. His good wing stretched out, grateful for the short stay in the enclosed space compared to spending a night in the tall jar.  
  
He peered critically at the thing Sam pointed out, noting the metal and the decorative carvings along it. It was as inscrutable as anything else in the human's dwelling as far as he was concerned. Scar didn't waste time asking what it was for. His eyes eventually dropped to the strange rope attached to it and leading over the edge of the desk.  
  
Compared to climbing a sheer cliff, it only barely looked like a step up. Scar pursed his lips and frowned skeptically.  
  
"Are you sure that will work? It looks awfully slick," he pointed out. Indeed, there was a dull gleam on whatever that material was. Scar could only imagine trying to grip it and make his way down, only to slide too fast to correct it. Breaking on the floor for Bobby to come and find them and throw another little tantrum didn't appeal to him at all. "I believe you'll have to give me a few pointers."  
  
“It won’t be as slick as it looks,” Sam commented. He swung his other leg over the cage and hopped out. The painful bruises on his legs ruined a perfect landing and he stumbled. He let out a groan, and pulled himself up straight. “The electrical cord should be easy to hold onto, especially compared to the side of the desk. Humans coat the wood with something that makes them… slick. So they don’t get splinters.”  
  
He started to walk over, and then began to run. Dean’s voice echoed in the distance, and the door in the room taunted Sam. They were so close… and they needed to get to Dean before he left.  
  
They _had_ to. This was their one chance.  
  
Sam skid to a halt, his hand touching the cord to see how it would be for climbing. He nodded to himself, then glanced back at Scar. “You ready or did you want a piggyback ride down?” he joked, offering the cord to the sprite first.  
  
Scar made his way to the edge of the desk to peer over the side. It was a long way down. The drop might not necessarily kill him, but it would ruin his legs for certain and probably his spine. His one good wing wouldn't stop a crash landing. Suddenly emergency wingsuits on the other knights' jackets seemed like a good idea.  
  
"I don't think now's a good time to learn how to climb like a squirrel," he pointed out gruffly. Dean's voice said something in the distance, and Bobby answered him. Their time was limited. Scar turned towards Sam with a flick of his good wing.  
  
"Looks like this time you'll have to carry me," he pointed out.  
  
Scar would never forget the first time he met Sam. Finding a cold, scared little boy out in the woods had gotten to even his guarded heart. Sam had clung to him tightly while they flew back to the village, his tears soaking into Scar's jacket. Now, Scar would have to hang onto Sam or risk falling several feet straight to the harsh ground.  
  
Sam laughed at that, and turned away from the sprite. “That’s right, isn’t it. We’ve come full circle.” He held his arms out to the side and let Scar clamber on. The lack of wings on his back was what made it possible. The entire concept of a _piggyback ride_ was a new one for the sprites. Bowman especially had been enamoured of the idea when he was a nestling, always asking, _demanding_ , a ride. Sam could never say no, and more than once the little fluttering sprite on his shoulders would be getting honeycomb down from the highest shelves.  
  
In this case, Scar was larger than the nestlings but still not heavy. The older sprite was slim compared to the cursed human, and stood a head shorter. He would barely weigh Sam down even with the wings now sticking out from his back.  
  
“Don’t worry about grabbing me too tight. The bruises will heal, whatever Bobby does to us if we got stuck here _won’t_.”  
  
Especially for him. There was no doubt in Sam’s mind that Bobby had plans for him after his last offhand comment.   
  
For being so full of himself, Bobby had awfully thin skin.  
  
Once Scar was situated, Sam grasped the cord. He peered off the edge of the desk, gauging the height they had to travel. It wasn’t the highest he’d ever come down from but normally he wasn’t working under a time constraint.  
  
“Alright. Hold on tight.”  
  
Sam swung off, letting himself drop below the level of the surface of the desk. Only then did he tighten his grip so the travel was slower and safer. He kept an ear towards the towering door, listening to the conversation out by the front door.  
  
Which was wrapping up.  
  
He didn’t need to know what Dean was saying to recognize that tone of voice. They were almost finished and Bobby would be stomping back into the study in no time at all.  
  
And Dean would be gone. Taking any chance of a rescue with him.  
  
“C’mon,” Sam gritted between his teeth, encouraging himself as he loosened his grip and dropped down somewhat faster than was safe.  
  
It didn’t matter. He’d only passed the halfway point when the sound of a door slamming shut came to them.  
  
Dean was gone, and he wasn’t coming back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Uh oh_
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** April 15th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	16. Another Point of View

Scar let go of Sam once they were on the floor and turned warily towards the door. It loomed higher above their heads than ever, especially with the threat waiting somewhere beyond it. A human who would be angry with them could come wandering back in at any time, and he already had it out for Sam.  
  
Scar's heart pounded. If it was the last thing he ever did, he'd make sure Sam had a chance.  
  
Underneath the desk was an appealing option to hide, but Bobby would likely search there first. Their other options required a run across open floor, and they didn't have the time to be picky. Scar grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him into a run towards the nearest wall. There was some kind of cabinet there, next to a bookshelf.  
  
They had to hope there was somewhere to hide that would put them out of reach while they came up with a more focused plan. For now, they needed to run.  
  


* * *

  
**Five minutes ago…**  
  
Dean rocked back on his heels impatiently after he pressed the doorbell. The tranquil chimes filled the air, cutting through the tension between him and the others.  
  
Bowman was once more squirreled away in his sling. Dean didn’t like leaving the little guy on his own any more than Bowman liked being in the Impala without them. It was a completely alien environment for the sprite, one that had no camouflage for him at all. Sam would likely be the same, at least while he had clothing that fit the colors of the forest like the other knights.  
  
No matter what, once they found him and Scar, Dean was determined to make him comfortable wherever he was. Size didn’t matter, upbringing didn’t matter. His little brother _belonged_ in the Impala just as much as Dean or John.  
  
The reason for the tension was the feeling of _not knowing_ Sam’s fate. Until they got back to the forest, the sprites that were searching for the others had no way of contacting the humans. It made Dean wish he’d left a cell phone with them. The battery would last at least a day, giving them a connection to Cerul’s search and rescue party. Dean was getting antsy the longer they were out of the forest checking on Bobby.  
  
He couldn’t just ignore the kid, especially if Bobby needed help after the demon. Sam would expect him to stick with the case. It was his job, after all, and the sprites had theirs.  
  
Sam just needed to focus on his. Survival.  
  
Dean was starting to consider hitting the doorbell again. Impatience was practically brimming over the edge of his emotions.  
  
Jacob waited with Dean at the door, refraining from walking right into his friend's house. He'd been invited there so many times over the years that he was practically a member of the family, but he waited until he could hear footsteps approaching the door. With Dean, a complete stranger, along to check on Bobby, they could easily overwhelm him.  
  
Before the footsteps reached the door, Jacob shot one glance at the sling on Dean's arm to check on Bowman. The sprite was tucked away in hiding, his wings folded close. He was so well hidden by the sling that Jacob could barely see him even standing at the correct angle. Bobby definitely wouldn't notice him there.  
  
He had to look up a moment later when the door pulled open partway and his friend's face appeared. Bobby looked surprisingly well-rested despite his time as a possessee. He'd probably gotten home and zoned out for the entire night. He hadn't gotten as knocked around as Jacob had.  
  
His blue eyes shifted from a frown of confusion to a look of surprise. "Jake! Dude, what ... ah," he trailed off, looking up at Dean. "What's up?"  
  
“Hi, Bobby Loran?” Dean took charge instantly. Technically, Jacob was ‘assisting’ him in the case, so the teen wouldn’t be the one expected to ask any questions. With the way Dean’s life was ruled by secrecy and subterfuge, it was important to keep up appearances on all fronts.  
  
“My name’s Jimmy Page.” Dean dug in his jacket to pull out the familiar ID he’d used during the entire case. At least, up until he needed to check into the hospital. It was flashed in front of Bobby’s icy blue eyes. During the entire movement and as Dean tucked it back into his leather jacket, he could feel the slight motions of the sprite against his arm. It was definitely one of the _strangest_ sensations he’d ever felt, especially knowing that the little tickle down there was someone’s entire body.  
  
“Jacob’s been helping me out with the case ever since you clocked him one in the forest.” Unlike the other adults, Dean knew the entire story. There was no way Jacob had lied about it. He was good at reading people, in poker or real life, and every instinct told him that Bobby was the one twisting the truth. They were going to get to the bottom of Bobby’s lie if he had to drag it out of the kid himself. That way they could get back to the forest. “Everyone’s worried about you since you booked it after the attack. I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you some questions before we can call it case closed.”  
  
Bobby's confused frown returned without missing a beat. He hid his shock flawlessly, and if Jacob hadn't already given his story it was possible he could have convinced them. "But I ... that _wasn't me,_ " he said, sounding perplexed and worried. "I-I already said, there was a guy ..."  
  
Jacob pursed his lips as Bobby trailed off. His friend kept glancing at Dean, looking like he worried he might be in trouble. Considering he'd never done anything against the law before, finding an FBI agent on his front steps so soon after what he went through was probably quite a shock. Jacob resisted the urge to tell him that it was fine, they knew what really happened and took care of it.  
  
Bobby sighed, still keeping the door mostly closed as he spoke again. "Look, guys, it was all really crazy and stressful and stuff ... I'm sorry for running off. Am I in trouble?"  
  
Dean was shaking his head. “We just need to find out what happened out there. No one’s in any trouble here, but you ran off in the middle of a difficult investigation, and that makes you look… suspicious. Especially since _both_ of your friends got hurt. So I’m here to clear everything up before it gets muddled. You can call me a… specialist for this kind of case.”  
  
The entire time, Dean’s voice was gruff, a no-nonsense demeanor falling over him that he saved for difficult talks. “Now, the night of the attack, Jacob and Chase both ended up in the hospital. Can you tell me everything that you remember happening up until you ran into the forest? What _exactly_ happened out there?”  
  
Bobby pursed his lips and glanced at Jacob, his ice blue gaze lingering on the deep bruise on the side of his face. It looked especially dark with the sunlight glaring on it, and for a moment it looked like Bobby was speechless over what had happened. He looked ashamed.  
  
"I got up 'cause Chase tossed a soda can and I missed catching it, so I went to pick it up," he began. "I was coming back when this guy just blew past me from somewhere in the trees and hit Jacob and then Chase, and then when I ran forward to ask that the fuck was wrong with him he turned on me, too."  
  
Jacob glanced aside at Dean, wishing he could read his stoic face and tell what he thought of Bobby's lie. It was convincing, but Jacob had known Bobby to mess with the truth a lot before.  
  
Bobby finished off with "The guy must have been on drugs or something, I dunno ... I ran my ass off 'cause I seriously thought he was about to kill me."  
  
Dean nodded, following along with the story up until it deviated completely from Jacob _and_ Chase’s. He _might_ be inclined to believe Bobby over Chase, considering the other teen’s asthma attack. Something like that would override other factors, like who was around during the attack.  
  
“And after the ‘attack,’ you didn’t want to come back and check on your friends?” Dean asked dubiously. This story didn’t come close to lining up. Victims of demons talked about lost periods of time where they didn’t remember anything, or being forced to watch their body do things that they had no control over. Not this. “Or even the next day? This campground is on your family’s property, and you’re telling me you just kept running.”  
  
Dean’s voice changed, growing more clipped. “Bobby, let me cut to the chase and save your breath. We _know_ there wasn’t anyone else out there. So how ‘bout you tell me what _really_ happened that night?”  
  
Bobby huffed and couldn't resist sending the FBI agent a brief glare. His story had worked well for the cops before, and of course his parents would believe any word he said. He'd even heard that Chase begrudgingly admitted he might have been wrong about things. But this guy was persistent, and with Jacob there not backing Bobby up at all, he didn't have many options.  
  
"Look, dude, you'll just think I'm crazy," he said dubiously. "It _wasn't me,_ I swear. Jacob, you know I wouldn't just attack you guys!"  
  
He fixed Jacob with a look, and the taller teen frowned. Bobby looked so determined, and Jacob finally took a chance to speak up. "Was it like you had no control over your own body?" he asked.  
  
Bobby glanced back at Dean before staring at Jacob again. "What the fuck is actually going on here?" he asked. "How did you know? Is this some X-Files shit?"  
  
“No, the _X-Files_ is a TV show,” Dean pointed out dryly. He heard that all the time from victims, considering the crazy shit he had to dig them out of. Gods, shapeshifters, werewolves… everything the world said didn’t exist. “ _This_ is real. All you need to know is no matter what you say, I won’t think you’re crazy. _Jacob_ won’t think you’re crazy.” He took a step forward, giving Bobby his best understanding look. Being himself, it didn’t change much from his standard intensity.  
  
“What really happened out there?” Dean asked gently.  
  
Bobby kept a wary eye on Dean with him closer to the door. He nearly wanted to shut the door in his face at this point. Instead, he took a slow breath. "It's like Jacob said. I couldn't control my own body. So it was ... like, _me,_ sure, but I was just watching. I swear. I would never do that to my friends."  
  
He glanced at Jacob again, staring at the bruise. Jacob offered him a faint smile, but Bobby didn't return it. It looked like the visit had weirded him out thoroughly, especially coming so soon after he managed to cook up an alibi for everyone else.  
  
Dean nodded, suspicions rising at Bobby’s fast turnaround. It raised every red flag he had in his mind. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that Bobby was still possessed and pull out the holy water. But they _knew_ the demon was gone. He’d seen the exorcism finish it off thanks to Bobby Singer’s clear recitation.  
  
Instead of accusing Bobby, Dean reached into his jacket and pulled out a business card. It had his fake name on it along with the number to one of his burner phones. It served as a useful way to keep an eye on victims on the off chance that the case was still open. “Look, give me a ring if anything _else_ weird happens. I’m always on call.”  
  
Before leaving, Dean paused. “When you were out in the forest, did you happen to see anyone else around? My… partner was giving Jacob a hand and now he’s vanished.”  
  
Bobby looked up from reading the card and tilted his head. He absently braced a hand on the edge of the door to drum his fingers, revealing a small but nasty cut near his thumb as he did. The card slipped into his back pocket before he finally shook his head. "I don't remember seeing anyone else," he said.  
  
Jacob sighed. If Bobby had seen a sprite or someone like Sam, he might have written it off as a hallucination. He was still acting kind of odd, but then again he _had_ been possessed.  
  
Bobby spoke again, pointing at Dean with the hand braced on the door. "Hey, you got a map of the forest? I can probably grab you an extra one if you need it, if it'll help."  
  
Dean stiffened at the sight of that hand, his eyes landing on a fresh cut. It _could_ be from a briar patch or a fall. Yet an image of Sam rose to mind, holding out his knife to prove to Dean who he was.  
  
A tiny knife just big enough to cause a cut like that if Bobby snatched at him.  
  
There was no way Sam would go down without a fight. Scar's sword had been found in the forest but not Sam's, leaving the small knight armed. If it wasn't for Bobby's suspicious behaviour, Dean might have brushed off the cut as an accident from the teen’s time in the forest. As it was, this added to the rest was making Dean think there was a reason they'd found only a glider in the forest where Bobby was freed from the demon.  
  
None of this showed on his face. Dean kept himself under tight control.  
  
“That would be a huge help in my investigation,” he said with an easy grin. “Thanks.”  
  
Bobby nodded and stood up straight again. "Hey, man, whatever's going on out there is freaky as hell. I'll do what I can. Wait here a sec," he said, some of his initial concern fading away as the conversation didn't lead him into trouble. He turned away from the door, and without him propping it open, it fell closed with a slam that made Bowman flinch in Dean's sling.  
  
Jacob gave the closed door an odd look. "He is ... really different from usual," he commented, glancing at Dean.  
  
"I'm not impressed," Bowman assessed, taking the chance to speak up now that it was just them on the front step, but he remained hidden in Dean's sling. "No offense but your friend is odd, Jacob."  
  
“It's more than that,” Dean said. His easygoing manner with Bobby dropped away like it never existed. A perpetual frown took its place on his face. “He's lying.”  
  
There it was, out in the air. Dean plowed through the tension with heedless disregard. “I've dealt with victims of possession before. He's _not_ acting like them. Like, at all. And I got a good look at his hand. There's a cut on it, just big enough to be from Sam.”  
  
That was enough to prompt Bowman to poke his head out from his hiding place to peer up at Dean. "You think he knows what happened to Sam?" he asked hopefully, worry for Sam fraying his patience.  
  
It dawned on Jacob even as Bowman asked. "He ... he might _have_ Sam. There was blood on Scar's rapier when they brought it back."  
  
Bowman's expression shifted into an outraged glare while his heart fluttered with fear for what might have become of Sam. "Well if they're _here_ , we gotta go get 'em!"  
  
“Don't worry,” Dean reassured Bowman. His voice was shockingly calm, devoid of any emotion. “If Sam or Scar is in there, we're not leaving without them.”  
  
If he had to break down the door to get to them, he would.  
  
Dean peered around the house, taking in the height and the second story windows. “Bowman, is there any way you can scout out the house?” he asked urgently, remembering Sam's assurance the day before about how Bowman was a patrolsprite. “If we know where they are, we can get to them faster. That way, I'm not just breaking into some kid's house in the middle of the day.”  
  
Bowman nodded and found his way to the end of the sling so that he stood briefly on Dean's wrist before his wings sprang to life and he leapt into the air. "Of course I can scout," he answered, flitting straight upwards before veering to the side. He dashed around the side of the huge, blocky house with silent wings, his gaze darting this way and that. In his rush to find the others, he didn't even look back at the only two giants around that would keep him safe.  
  
Everything was unfamiliar here. Even the trees, though they had their inviting tufts of verdant leaves, were manicured and tended much more than the wild growth back home. The grass was shorter and flowers tended to grow only in the squares of earth allotted to them. All of that almost looked odder to Bowman than the human things all around.  
  
He had to take his focus off the other houses and cars and indecipherable things in the area to check the windows he passed by. Bowman fluttered near the corners, peeking into each one cautiously in case a human might be looking out at him. Nothing.  
  
In one room, he saw Bobby sifting through some papers on a wide, square (of course) table. The human was smaller than Jacob and Dean, but Bowman saw an annoyed look on his face that spoke volumes. He shuddered and moved on just as Bobby straightened with something in hand, most likely the map for Dean. Time was running out.  
  
Bowman didn't sacrifice looking closely for finishing up his mission quickly. He still checked every window until one towards the back of the house held his attention and he stopped. There was, on a desk in the middle of the room, something that dropped ice into his stomach.  
  
A _cage._  
  
Bowman's hands pressed to the glass and he stared at the floor of that cage, finding no sign of Sam or Scar. The door hung open. Bowman scanned the rest of the room, desperately hoping to find a splash of green somewhere.  
  
There was no time. Bowman huffed in frustration, but the empty cage was enough confirmation for him. They would be fools not to at least check. He darted away from the window, determined to ensure that their escape wouldn't be in vain.  
  
He reached a front corner of the house and peeked around it cautiously, clinging easily to a brick a foot or two higher than Dean's eye level. Bobby was back at the door, and Jacob was chatting with him carefully about the landmarks noted on the piece of paper between them. Bowman took a chance and flickered one wing to draw the hunter's sharp gaze, and when he met eyes with Dean, he nodded frantically and pointed towards the back of the house.  
  
Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he changed the direction of his stare towards Bobby. The kid who’d _kidnapped_ his brother. With the blood on Scar’s sword, there was no way the knights had gone willingly. Sam would never vanish without letting them know.  
  
One arm might be broken, and it was even Dean’s dominant arm, but that didn’t matter. His father had stressed training with both hands. That way, if one arm got injured in a fight, he’d still be able to battle on. Otherwise an injury would turn crippling and could get him killed.  
  
In one fluid motion Dean had his Colt drawn and cocked back, sidestepping in front of Jacob. The silver engravings on the side caught the sun and shone.  
  
“Where’s Sam?” he demanded, his eyes hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's not fooled. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** April 19th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	17. The Truth Is Out

"Hey, what--" Bobby began, before catching up to what had just happened. His icy blue eyes almost crossed as he stared down the barrel of the silvery gun, and the map fell from his hands to drift to the floor. His mouth was open to protest, but for once nothing came to mind. He put his hands up and stepped backwards, letting the door fall open.  
  
Jacob recovered from his own shock much faster. He glanced around to make sure no one was gawking at Dean drawing a gun on a kid in broad daylight. The last thing they needed was a bunch of cops to come around.  
  
Thankfully, Bobby kept stepping back until both Jacob and Dean could edge into the house after him. Jacob paused to glance around, and a flicker of green darted towards him.  
  
Bowman swooped into the tall door, past Dean and soaring over Bobby's head to somewhere deeper in the house. He didn't even stop to look back at the humans, though Bobby whipped his gaze around to follow his progress before looking back at the gun.  
  
"What the _fuck,_ " he finally managed to get out.  
  
Jacob closed the door once everyone was inside the house, leaving no chances for witnesses of them all but forcing their way in. "Dean ... uh ... don't shoot him," he pleaded quietly, though he stood back. The look on the hunter's face was filled with a rage unlike Jacob had ever seen before, and he knew he did not want to get in the way of it. "We can deal with him without it."  
  
For every step back Bobby took, Dean matched it. His aim was unwavering as he stared down the person responsible for Sam’s disappearance. Even other hunters would flinch to have that glare on them.  
  
Dean was a weapon, and he’d found his target.  
  
“No one’s getting shot,” Dean growled out, his eyes locked on Bobby. Until Sam and Scar were in sight, he wasn’t going to let the kid out of his sight. There was no way of knowing what Bobby would do to them now that Dean was onto him. “So long as we get my brother and Scar _back._ ”  
  
Bobby's look of fear shifted into confusion and doubt for a moment, but he kept his eyes on the gun and his hands raised. He didn't want to make any sudden moves with a gun trained on him, not when he'd most likely be unable to avoid getting seriously hurt.  
  
"Your _brother?_ " he asked incredulously, looking at Dean as though he'd sprouted an extra head. "What the fuck ... "  
  
Jacob took a chance to step up alongside Dean, side-eyeing the gun. “Bobby, you took _people_ against their will," he said steadily. It was almost eerie, the look in those blue eyes as they shifted from the gun to him. His friend was different. "You can't just--"  
  
"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," Bobby spat, interrupting him. His Texas drawl, usually hidden beneath the surface of his voice, came out in full force in his ire. "This isn't a conversation. You came to take what _I_ found, on _my_ land." His sullen, hateful look returned to Dean and he said not a word more, refusing to cooperate with the demands.  
  


* * *

  
Bowman took several tries to find the right doorway into the room with the cage. After fluttering in and out of several rooms with all the speed he could, he hovered over that desk with wide eyes. He could scarcely imagine what the world must look like from inside that awful thing.  
  
"Sam? Scar!" he called, turning to gaze around the immense, square room. " _Sam!_ "  
  
At the sound of the blessedly familiar voice, Sam poked his head out from behind the books on the shelves of the study. With no way of knowing if Bobby was about to come back into the room, they’d taken shelter where they could. Down where they were hiding, dust covered the old tomes that lined the shelf. Some caked the side of Sam’s pants where he’d brushed against a book to get to the dark corner.  
  
“Bowman?” Sam called out. “Is that you?” He leaned further out, peering up at the immense room around them. “Hey! Down here!” he shouted, waving his arm to get Bowman’s attention as the sprite hovered above the desk.  
  
Bowman stiffened, hearing the voice, and whirled around. He could hear the humans talking somewhere else in the house, but at the moment he didn't care. He found Sam and dove towards the ground as fast as he'd ever done. As always, he pulled out of the dive at the precise moment to avoid breaking his legs, and his wings made a loud _crack!_ as they filled with air.  
  
He stumbled up to the bookshelf and, in lieu of any other greeting, threw his arms around Sam in a relieved hug. The pent-up worry for Sam, for the brother that Bowman had known most of his life, escaped in a sigh.  
  
"Thank the Spirit," he muttered.  
  
“Geeze, you been working out?” Sam laughed into Bowman’s shoulder, hiding a wince at the pain from his bruises. He gave him a slight squeeze of his own, trying not to hug the lean sprite too hard and make Bowman start griping about him being too strong all over again.  
  
Pulling out of the hug, Sam checked Bowman over with a worried eye. The last he’d seen Bowman was before they ran into the demon and he wanted to make sure that his little brother was okay. He grinned at the sight of Bowman’s wings, as proud as ever.  
  
“Dude, you have _no idea_ how happy we are to see you!” Sam exclaimed once they were standing next to each other. “I thought we heard Dean leaving. We tried to get down from the desk and get out there, but if he left and we were stuck with Bobby again we’d havta get under cover _fast…_ ” Sam rambled on from the relief.  
  
Bowman opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, Scar stepped forward out of the hiding place as well. Bowman's eyes widened and his words died in his throat at the sight of the belts and the metal strapped around one wing, and his own wings cringed back in sympathetic pain. Scar offered him a grim smile. "Good to see you, Leafwing," he greeted wearily.  
  
Bowman stood up straighter and nodded. "Yes," he answered, wanting to ask after the injured wing. He'd have time for that later. "We should get going. Dean and Jacob will keep Bobby away from you now," he promised. Then, Bowman hopped down from the shelf to give himself room before spreading his wings again. He took flight to hover barely a foot over them. "I'll keep watch and lead the way, there's too many corners in this blasted house."  
  
“We’ll be right behind you.” Sam waved Bowman off and jumped down from the shelf. He only stumbled slightly, pausing to help Scar down from the shelf. His wing was fragile in the condition it was in. Sam wasn’t about to let his mentor risk it.  
  
Once they were on the ground, Sam brought up the rear of their party. Due to the lack of wings, he was the fastest when it came to running on the ground. If he needed to make up ground _fast,_ he could.  
  
The room loomed overhead as they ran, and Sam wished for his sword back at his side. More than once his hand went to stray towards his knife, reassured to have it safe in his jacket. Dean was close. They could do this.  
  
Bowman led the way dutifully, flying overhead and watching every shadow, every mote of dust in the air. While the flightless pair on the floor ran after him (he loathed to think of Scar Wolfblind as flightless), Bowman put his wings to use watching for danger.  
  
No human footsteps stampeded in their direction. By the time they reached the door, Bowman's heart was on the rise. They'd almost gotten Sam and Scar out of the horrid situation that they'd gotten into after _helping_ the human that captured them. Bowman was glad they weren't out fending for themselves against wolves and foxes and owls in the forest, but at the same time, he had to wonder.  
  
Was this human worse?  
  
He pushed the thought out of mind as they traversed the hall. Scar's breathing was labored, and Bowman stalled in the air to give him time to recover before they continued on. Finding the way back was easier than making his way to the room in the first place.  
  
"Dean! Jacob! We're here!" Bowman couldn't help calling ahead, when the next corner was the last obstacle between them and the safe giants.  
  
Sam kept behind Scar as they ran, but he was tempted to dart ahead when they rounded the next corner and they saw what was happening.  
  
“Dean!” Sam shouted, his eyes falling on the tall hunter who was in control of the situation. A gun was held on the blond-haired, blue-eyed human who’d taken them from their home.  
  
This time when the familiar tingle of eyes on him came, Sam didn’t care. All three humans loomed overhead, but Dean and Jacob were like a beacon of hope. Their way home. Sam could remember standing not far from Jacob’s feet when he was walking around his campground, setting it up. Not once had he and Bowman been in danger.   
  
And Dean… Dean was _safety._ It had taken over a decade for him to find Sam, but now…  
  
Dean heard the tiny voice down on the floor and couldn’t stop himself from looking towards the three that were trying to cross the vast distance. “Sammy…” he whispered, overcome by relief at the sight after a day of being left in limbo for his brother’s fate.  
  
Jacob and Bobby both looked to the three tiny people approaching across what to them was a vast open floor with cathedral ceilings far over their heads. Bowman zigzagged back and forth, low to the ground, and refused to leave Sam and Scar behind. Jacob couldn't help cracking a relieved grin at the sight of them, only for it to falter at the sight of Scar _running._  
  
Then, he noticed the hobble in the sprite's steps and the awkward angle of his bound up wing, and something within Jacob leapt to life, something he rarely allowed to the surface.  
  
At the same time, Bobby saw a cheap opportunity. It only took one moment of Dean's broken focus for him to reach up and swat the gun arm aside. The unexpected strike threw Dean off balance, and he nearly dropped the gun on the floor.  
  
With it no longer aimed at him, Bobby turned towards the three dashing across the floor, a grin forming on his face at the second sprite he'd ever seen. The little guy's flight faltered as Bobby took one step towards them.  
  
He was yanked backwards in the same instance and slammed with such force against the wall that he saw stars for a second. When he recovered, Bobby realized that _Jacob_ had reached forward and clamped a hand around his arm, pulling him back with ease.  
  
"Bobby, what did you do?!" Jacob asked him with horrified, untethered anger and betrayal in his eyes. "What did you do to them?"  
  
With the scrawny teenager under control, Dean clicked the safety back on his gun and tucked it back into his jeans. There were more important things to take care of than Bobby, and now he had a chance.  
  
It wasn’t like he was actually planning on shooting a _kid,_ anyway.  
  
The three tiny people across the room from them had stopped in their tracks at the sight of Bobby coming for them, and again at the sight of Jacob’s move. Bobby slamming into the wall was almost an earthquake, done in a show of Jacob’s effortless strength. None of them could ever hope to match it.  
  
When Dean stepped forward, his eyes glued to all three, Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of Dean’s injured arm, which up until then had been blocked from their sight. Just yesterday, Dean had been in fighting shape, and now he was clearly favoring the injury.  
  
The hunter dropped down to his knees, holding out his good hand. “Hey guys.” His eyes were bright and hopeful for the first time that day. “Let’s get you off the floor and back where you belong.”  
  
Bowman sent one more wary glance towards Bobby before flying in a low circle around Scar and Sam, getting the three of them moving again. It wasn't lost on him how battered even Sam was. Both of them had been through something awful in the captivity of that human, if the cage was any indicator.  
  
When they were inches from Dean's offered hand, Bowman dropped down to land on it and offer them help stepping up. Scar, whose wings quivered with exhaustion, nodded his thanks. "Never break a wing, boy," he advised, even as he moved aside to make room for Sam to step up onto Dean's hand.  
  
Bowman winced slightly at the very thought, but busied himself turning to Sam to help him up next. "Made it," he said with a grin, relieved to finally have Sam back to safety.  
  
Sam grinned back, taking the offered hand. Bowman pulled him up onto Dean’s hand, and he almost stumbled over the callused surface. So far Sam had only stood on his brother’s hand three times. Twice was for short trips to and from his house, and the third time was on the back of Dean’s hand, trying his best to convince the hunter to let his family go. He’d been standing on a knuckle that time, and it gave him a solid surface under his boots.  
  
There was no time for Sam to adjust. The moment all three of them were standing on Dean’s palm, the hand lifted away from the ground under his control.  
  
Dean didn’t stand right up. Instead he paused with them close to his face, frantically scanning them. His eyes touched on Scar’s broken wing and the way Sam stood gingerly in place. So hurt in such a short period of time. If he’d been the one pinning Bobby to the wall, the teen would have a few extra bruises for that. The thumb that was close by shifted so he brushed Sam’s side, and then the three little guys found themselves held in a careful, gentle hug.  
  
Sam was held the closest, with Dean’s thumb against his side and pressed close over Dean’s heart. He put a hand on the tip of Dean’s thumbnail, amazed at the difference in size and for the first time that day not dismayed by it. His hand was tiny by comparison, the entire hand unable to cover up even the tip of Dean’s, but he didn’t have to worry about any harsh pokes or derisive comments. Sam let himself relax.  
  
“Sorry we took so long,” Dean whispered in apology.  
  
"It's not the worst wait," Scar grumbled back, shifting slightly in the unexpected hug. Bowman, nearest his hurt wing, made sure to stay out of the way of his movements. "I think I'm just glad you showed up to see that brat, even if it's not going precisely how he might have expected." Scar glanced over his shoulder and beyond Dean's hand, noting what he could see of Bobby.  
  
"Fucking stop!" Bobby spat, right on cue. He squirmed, but Jacob still had him easily pinned to the wall, unable to break his hold. "If you take them from here, you are _stealing!_ "  
  
Bowman cringed from the assurance in his voice. He was glad Dean had them in hand now, especially after seeing that cage and the state of Scar's wing. That human meant trouble for anyone sprite-sized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs to wash that kid's mouth out with soap
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** April 22nd, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	18. The Boy With No Wings and the Hunter Without a Family

At the angry protest, Dean slowly stood up. He kept his hand braced against his chest, cupped to keep the three people he had in his grasp safe from any fall. Whatever _anyone_ else said, they were his family and he wasn’t about to put them down or let anyone else’s hands on them. He was a coiled steel spring, ready to react to any possible threat to the people that were under his protection. Broken arm or not, Dean could be a deadly weapon once he found his target.

“Sam’s my _brother,_ ” Dean spat out in a low growl. The voice rumbled around Sam and the others from where they were, and Sam couldn’t stop a flinch at the venom in it. “Flesh and blood. Last time I checked, that makes what you did _kidnapping_. Now, you listen close. If I _ever_ find you bothering sprites or anyone their size again, you’ll be answering to _me._ ” His fingers curled a little closer around the others.

Jacob didn't turn away from Bobby, so he saw the minute shifts in his expression as Dean spoke. Defiance shifted to anger, which shifted to fear, which shifted back into something as neutral as he could make it. Jacob had an arm pressed against Bobby's collarbone, and he could feel his pulse quicken.

He couldn't blame him. Jacob would probably be scared to have someone like Dean glaring down at him with that much intensity, too.

"Bobby, do you get it? They're _people._ It doesn't matter that we're bigger than them," Jacob said earnestly. He wanted his friend to just _see._ This was someone he'd spent countless hours with. If Bobby couldn't fix his way of thinking, he had become someone that Jacob simply couldn't reconcile with.

Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Being bigger matters to you right now, doesn't it?" He reached up to tap at Jacob's arm pinning him to the wall. "That's something the demon taught me. Everything is a power play and the sprites and that guy's runty brother got dealt pretty shit hands."

Jacob frowned. For a moment, he couldn't believe what he heard. But it was really Bobby; there was a remnant of his usual sense of entitlement there, magnified beyond belief. Jacob shifted his weight so he was no longer pinning Bobby to the wall, and the blond teenager smirked at him.

Bobby opened his mouth again, but before he could spew anymore of his self-righteous crap, he received a sucker punch under the chin. His head snapped back, hitting the wall, and he sank down to the floor in a complete daze.

Dean’s glare was hard. After hearing the crap the kid was spewing about Sam and the others, he didn’t want to let them anywhere near Bobby ever again. They were so light on his hand, even with three of them standing so close together. It was a harsh reminder of their vulnerability when someone got their hands on them.

Someone like Bobby.

The resolve to do what he could to help them out no matter what firmed up inside Dean. “That’s less than you deserve,” Dean said derisively to the crumpled teenager. On a whim, he lashed out with a boot, catching Bobby in his stomach and knocking him back against the wall all over again.

Bobby was like a ragdoll against Jacob and Dean's attacks. He might be big enough to bully Sam and Scar with ease, but he wasn't very big for a human. He grimaced like a gargoyle and fell onto his side, his arms clutched around his stomach after the harsh kick. If he had a snarky retort for them, he couldn't get around his pain to say it.

Jacob, still disappointed in his friend's change, stepped away from him before finally looking over to Dean's hand. Bowman peered over the edge, keeping a wary eye on Bobby.

"Hey guys," he greeted. "What do you say we get out of here? Bobby has nothing to stand on to cause you any more trouble."

Scar spoke up before anyone else could reply. "It's a grand idea. If someone could fetch Sam's sword, that human made him leave it on his desk. I'd like my knight to have his weapon back."

“Oh, we are _definitely_ not leaving that behind.” Dean didn’t wait for anyone else to speak up after that. While Jacob stood watch over Bobby, Dean made a beeline for the hall they’d appeared from, retracing their path through the house. He didn’t have to ask before Sam pointed the way up the stairs and directed Dean to the room.

Sunlight was innocently peeking through the windows in Bobby's room. The scowl deepened on Dean’s face when he thought about the way his brother had been treated while at the house. Reduced to an object, a _pet_.

The tiny rapier glittered in the light. Dean was somehow surprised to find himself without an extra hand to grab it with. One was occupied with his brother and adopted family and the other was trussed up in a sling and wouldn’t be able to reach the sword.

“Here,” he said softly, holding his hand against the desk. “I’d grab it if I could, but…”

Sam hopped down, flashing a grin up at his older brother. “Don’t worry, we won’t hold it against you,” he jabbed gamely up at Dean. “Though you _have_ to tell us what happened and how you broke your arm.”

Stepping up to his rapier, Sam knelt down. He carefully picked it up, running a hand down the flat of the blade. “It’s good to have you back,” he told his trusty weapon, turning to walk back to the waiting hand.

Bowman peered around the room with a frown on his face. He couldn’t imagine how far the horrible treatment might have really gone. All he could see was the outward signs of Scar and Sam’s injuries. Everything else about the place seemed completely foreign, but innocent of causing them any harm.

The memory of that cage sitting downstairs, looking as benign as ever on a desk, betrayed everything else. “Glad he didn’t break it,” he commented, looking over Sam’s sword. His wings flickered, agitated that the possibility even existed.

“I’d be finding a way to kick the boy myself if he did,” Scar grumbled. “Those swords have been Wellwood’s since before _I_ was knighted.”

“Well, hey,” Dean said as Sam stepped back onto his hand holding the sword carefully by his side. With both belts in use to bind Scar’s wing, he didn’t have anywhere else to put it. “If you feel like taking it out on him at all, I’m sure we can get Jacob to hold him in place. The little bastard’s practically begging for it.”

As the three on his hand settled again, Dean cupped them by his chest once more. He picked his way carefully out of the room, paying much closer attention to where he was walking than normal. None of them could afford him tripping himself up, Sam and Scar least of all. The steps going down was the hardest part. With three people the size of his finger on his hand, Dean was hyperaware of how they swayed with every step.

He was able to find his way back to Jacob without extra help from Sam, memorizing the layout of the house they’d been trapped in.

Jacob still loomed over Bobby, who lay curled up on the floor by the wall. He blinked up at Dean with cold blue eyes, trying to glare through the pain inflicted on him. He was not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination, so even two hits would leave him moping like that for a while.

Scar crouched to keep his balance on Dean's hand and peered over the edge down at the pathetic human. "Lucky for you, you're not worth any more of our time," he called down. "But, remember what Dean said, boy, and remember this: my name is Scar Wolfblind, and I didn't get my name from my father. I don't have a problem repeating myself on a pup like you."

Bowman smirked while Bobby frowned, slowly understanding what Scar meant. Those blue eyes flickered between the two other humans standing over him, and he chose not to make any moves that might inspire more kicks.

"He knows he lost," Jacob said quietly, finally pulling his gaze from his former best friend. He nodded towards the door. "Let's get everyone back home." 

Dean stepped back from Bobby in case the teen tried to make any moves when Jacob stopped guarding him. “We need to get these guys somewhere safe,” he agreed. “Somewhere we can regroup and make sure no one's hurt too bad.” A thumb shifted and unconsciously rubbed against Sam's side, seeking reassurance that he was okay again.

Sam managed to keep from jumping in surprise. He was still twitchy after the time spent in Bobby's hands, and couldn't stop himself from thinking he was about to get jabbed in the chest.

No. He was in Dean's hand now. That wasn't ever going to happen.

All of the positive thinking in the world couldn't stop his instincts from expecting it.

To keep anyone else from noticing his jumpy behavior, Sam put a hand on Dean's thumb and shoved it away. Or at least tried to. It had no give at first, until Dean noticed what Sam was attempting and went along with it.

Dean lead the way to the door and discovered again he didn't have an extra hand to use to open it. He stood to the side to let Jacob by. “So, what did you mean by Wolfblind?” he asked Scar curiously. “How did you get the name?”

Jacob opened the door and led the way back out, scanning the neighborhood for anyone trying to catch a glimpse of them. Thankfully, it seemed almost everyone was gone for work. Even so, both sprites in Dean's hand became tense and drew their wings as close to their backs as they could, wary of the many boxy shapes around them.

"Well, I fought for it," Scar answered, letting himself smirk proudly. He eyed up the Impala as they approached, his first good look at a car. The metal gleamed and he had to squint at it.

"Everyone in Wellwood knows the story," Bowman added while Scar was temporarily distracted. "It's not common for someone to earn a new name _and_ a title among the nobility for the same deed."

"Yes, well, stabbing a wolf's eyes blind isn't exactly _easy,_ " Scar admitted, though his proud tone remained.

“It would definitely give me trouble,” Sam grinned as he joined in. A wolf wouldn’t even be in the realm of reason for Sam to go for the eyes. His position on the ground had him handicapped in that field. There were no escapes down there, though he’d learned every one of Scar’s lessons and threw himself into any time the village was invaded by any animals.

Dean halted when he reached the Impala, hating the fact that he couldn’t do much for himself so long as his arm was broken. He’d be useless on any cases until it healed.

At least he’d done his job and got Sam and Scar back here. If Bobby had gotten away with this, he almost shuddered to imagine what _else_ they’d go through, if they were in such bad shape after only a single day.

“Hell, a wolf could give _me_ a run for my money,” Dean said, filled with awe at the thought of taking on a wolf while standing the size of a finger. “I couldn’t imagine taking on a wolf the size of a friggin’ _house_.”

After Jacob opened the door for Dean, they were soon settling themselves in the huge black car. 

Scar glanced around, taking in everything he could. This time, they wouldn't be trapped in a box for the entire trip. "I never imagined it myself, to be honest," he admitted absently.

He was pleased to hear the praise from another accomplished fighter, but he tried not to let it go to his head. Scar's fight against the wolf had been the talk of the village for months, but Cerul had coached him many times to stay humble about it. Scar understood the value of those words, but at the same time his shoulders squared proudly.

He grinned and sat himself down on Dean's hand, relaxing at last. They were free from the enemy. "Some fights _can't_ be imagined until they're right in front of you, but you'll never catch me backing down." If there was one thing Scar valued more than anything, it was the knowledge that he didn't have to let fear control him, no matter the odds. He tried to impart that lesson upon all of his knights.

Sam followed suit, sitting down and leaning back against Dean’s chest. The flannel shirt behind them was warm and welcoming and swayed in time with the hunter’s breathing. It took some of the tension from his shoulders, and he lay his sword across his lap. He couldn’t help but run a thumb against the flat of the blade distractedly. After Bobby made him put it down on the desk Sam had feared he’d never see it again.

Even Dean could feel the adrenaline starting to leech from his muscles. The fear that had leapt up in him at the sight of Scar’s wing injury and the realization that they’d been taken from the forest had filled him completely. With everyone safe and sound and in his hand, a reassuring weight, he could rest. He did his best to ignore the low-level throb of pain that came from his broken arm. It had washed away with the adrenaline and now was making itself known.

“All that matters is you face the fight on your own terms,” Dean murmured. His voice carried enough for everyone to hear him and hopefully didn’t deafen them.

Scar nodded sagely in agreement, and then flinched when the Impala roared to life with a motion from Jacob. The whole thing lurched with them inside, and it finally began to really sink in that they were leaving that place behind. Scar closed his eyes and sighed, thanking the Spirit twice over that Sam had gotten out of everything okay. He got out of there and back to Dean.

In the end, it mattered more to him that Sam and his brother were reunited. It had been a goal for Scar, set over ten years ago, to find the man that now held them protectively near his chest. Scar may have failed back then, but things had worked out in Sam's favor after all.

The boy with no wings had finally found his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back together and away from Bobby!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** April 26th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	19. A Few Pokes

While Scar fell into a reflective silence, Bowman sat heavily next to Sam. For years, the two of them had mused about finally seeing Dean again. He wished the meeting didn't have to be marred so much, but he couldn't help but think on the bright side of things. He had his brothers back, both of them.  
  
"When we get back, Rischa's going to want to help heal all of you," he pointed out. He patted Dean's hand beneath him. "You too, Dean."  
  
Dean glanced down at the group sitting on his hand at Bowman’s actions, an eyebrow going up at how casual they all looked down there. Sam was relaxed and using Dean’s chest to lean against. A tiny ball of warmth bloomed in his chest, glad to see them so comfortable with him even after the time spent under Bobby’s tender mercies.  
  
“You mentioned that before,” Dean remembered. “Can she really do much? The arm’s a lot bigger than what she’s probably used to.” He wiggled the fingers of his injured arm, the most movement he could manage without straining it.  
  
Sam followed Dean’s gaze to stare at the fingers his size as they moved around, then tilted his head so he was staring straight up. “Rischa and Cerul both have the healing touch,” he informed Dean and Jacob. “It won’t fix your arm right away, but it’ll help you heal faster. So you won’t be in a sling for months. Maybe like a week or two, depending on how bad it is and how much energy it takes them.”  
  
Jacob glanced over as he drove, smiling faintly. "Somehow, I doubt Rischa will let anything stop her from helping," he mused. Rischa was a small girl, but she came with plenty of determination of her own. Considering Bowman and Sam were her big brothers, it didn't take a genius to figure out where she learned it.  
  
Bowman chuckled nervously. "Yeah ... I think she's probably going to tell me off for heading out so fast," he realized.  
  
That, in turn, reminded Scar of the chiding he was most likely to get from Cerul and his other knights for flying alone the night before, and he sighed. "I'm sure she'll just be happy to see all of her family back in one place," he interjected. "From what I hear, she barely got to meet Dean before everything happened."  
  
Jacob nodded absently. "Probably. But by the time we get back, the sun will be getting pretty low, and I don't think a walk in the dark is good for anyone at this point. We'll get some rest and head back on the trail in the morning."  
  


* * *

  
True to Jacob's prediction, by the time they pulled into the town close to the forest that hid the village of sprites, the sky was tinting orange on one horizon. He pulled into the same motel from the night before, and even managed to get a multi-night discount despite it technically being a different check-in.  
  
He pulled the Impala back to the same door and let out a sigh. "Home base," he quipped.  
  
Sam pushed himself up from where he’d slumped down in Dean’s hand, almost falling asleep during the long ride. It was so different than when Bobby had taken them, shoving him and Scar into a tight, dark glovebox where every shift of the car had threatened to send them sprawling against a wall. Some of his bruises, he was certain, were from that.  
  
Instead, they got to stay in Dean’s hand where every shift and sway was cushioned and the hand swayed with them. The hunter had never voiced a word of complaint, his own eyes distant above as he stared thoughtfully out the window and watched the trees and towns pass them by. With Jacob driving, it gave him time to think about how strange life had become in the space of twenty four hours. Sam had felt those green eyes occasionally turn towards the tiny passengers, but didn’t react, letting Dean look them over to reassure himself they were really there. They all needed the reassurance.  
  
The outside world was peaceful. The motel was not at a peak season with the summer fading towards fall. The three tiny passengers were held close to Dean’s chest as Jacob came around the car to help with the door.   
  
_Stupid broken arm,_ Dean thought to himself, miffed at how much help he needed. He’d never dream of placing the little guys in a pocket with the injuries they were harboring, which meant both of his arms were useless.  
  
The edge of Dean’s leather jacket turned out to be convenient for blocking them from view. It also blocked a cool breeze as the evening chill started to pick up. “We can take a look at those injuries when we get settled,” Dean told them as he waited behind Jacob, who had the duffel in tow once more. “I might have something better for that wing if you want.”  
  
Scar took a second to realize that Dean was talking to him. His eyes still darted every which way, taking in the sight of the brick building, the tall painted wood door, and the metal gutters. "Hmm?" he muttered, distracted all over again once Jacob led the way into the room itself.  
  
"That metal thing doesn't look comfortable," Bowman chimed in, looking over Scar's injured wing with a furrowed brow. "Do you want something else on it?"  
  
Scar scoffed, an amused sound. "Well, boy, I suppose something else might work better, but you're right. _Nothing's_ comfortable at the moment."  
  
Sprite wings were loaded with nerve endings. Their sensitivity usually helped them keep the delicate limbs safe and avoid sprains from harsh winds when flying. However, they also meant that an injured wing was incredibly painful. A wing was the most painful limb to injure, and Bowman's sympathy wince offered plenty proof.  
  
"We can ice it, too," Jacob suggested gently, already checking the room's wheezing little mini-fridge.  
  
Dean brought the others over to the table of the room, setting his hand down to let them off. “And we’ll get you back to the forest for some healing first thing in the morning.” He tried his best to not react to the sensation of tiny boots walking across his palm as they all filed off. Finally with a usable hand, he itched distractedly at his other elbow, unable to keep from staring in amazement at what they looked like on the table surrounded by regular, everyday items. Even the key to the Impala would be a sizable burden to any of the three.  
  
The next step was to find some supplies their size to properly bind up the wing. Sam’s haphazard job on it was enough to keep it stable, but the bent metal paperclip was _definitely_ not made to brace a broken limb.  
  
As always, Dean’s duffel provided the answer. That bag was what he lived out of. It contained all of his weapons, extra clothing, a first aid kit and any other supplies he used on a day to day basis.  
  
Including toothpicks.  
  
Fishing out the first aid kit and several toothpicks, Dean came back over to the table and sat in the seat closest to his brother and adopted sprite family. “Got something we can use in here,” he mumbled as he managed to pop open the first aid kit. The toothpicks were placed next to Sam and Bowman. “I won’t be much use binding it with an arm down,” he admitted as he pulled out some gauze.  
  
Scar glanced between the others. Bowman was crouched to nudge at the sticks Dean had produced from his huge bag, and Jacob had found a huge chunk of ice in the machine he checked. He was already wrapping the almost-sprite-sized ice in one of the rags in the room. The roll of pristine white bandages in Dean's hand almost gleamed. Scar eyed the patchwork job he and Sam had managed to come up with in captivity, and couldn't deny that improving on it would bring him plenty of relief.  
  
The fussing over him had already begun. He sighed in a put upon way. "I'm not the only one who was injured, you know," he groused, even as Bowman approached with two of the toothpicks in his hands.  
  
"You've broken a wing-wrist, Scar," Bowman pointed out. "We gotta do this right or you'll have to re-break it." As much as he hated thinking about it, Bowman held his ground even when the knight turned a glare at him for daring to mention the possibility.  
  
Scar sighed and sat down, allowing Bowman to set aside the toothpicks and brace his injured wing carefully. "Fine. Sam, shall we try round two?"  
  
Sam smiled at that, ignoring the grousing. “Just think of it this way. If we set it using Dean’s supplies, you’ll get your sword belt back.”  
  
“Even _I_ had to get my arm looked at,” Dean complained when Sam took the gauze from him. The offended tone of voice was still lurking in his words. “Jacob took me to a hospital and then they drugged me enough that I couldn’t stay awake.”  
  
“Sounds like you needed it,” Sam said, sending a concerned look towards the sling. “You still have to tell us what happened after the demon left Bobby.” He didn’t like to consider the amount of force behind an attack to break such a powerful looking arm. Dean’s arms were thicker than Sam and the sprites were tall.  
  
With Bowman’s help, the two brothers bound Scar’s wing wrist with the toothpicks. It was a much more stable set than the deformed paperclip, which was discarded to the side. Dean pinched it between two fingers, wondering how strong they were to be able to bend such a relatively thick metal. He had a lot to learn about Sam and the sprites.  
  
Scar didn't make a peep through the whole process, though his jaw clenched more than once. The pain in his wing flared up while they were shifting things around. It was unavoidable with it in that state and with the nerves all around it. In the end, he looked dully over his shoulder at the white-wrapped wing. It was a lot more stable than before and he nodded silently in approval while he put his sword belt back on around his waist.  
  
All he needed now was the sword and several healing sessions and he'd be better in no time at all. Sam followed suit with his own belt and returned his sword to its rightful place. _Now_ things felt right.  
  
Jacob had a sheepish look on his face when he stepped forward to set his improvised ice pack near the three on the table. Bowman helped Scar scoot over to it to rest his injured wing on the blessedly cool cloth. "After it left Bobby, it hopped into me instead," he admitted, his voice full of remorse.  
  
Bowman glanced up at him and saw Jacob shoot a guilty look at Dean's arm before shoving his huge hands into the pocket of his jacket. "I couldn't stop it so ... I ended up being the one to break Dean's arm."  
  
“How did you get the demon out if it snapped your arm?” Sam asked, sending Dean a worried look. It was hard to believe they’d all escaped the demon in the end after the shit they’d gone through. Jacob possessed, Bobby kidnapping the people trying to help them and Dean down for the count.  
  
“Bobby Singer,” Dean said with a dismissive gesture. He dropped his hand the second he saw Sam nervously glance his way. The last thing he wanted to do was make anyone skittish after what they’d gone through just that day. “I called him up and put him on speakerphone. The demon couldn’t get to the phone in time with Bowman distracting it. We got Jacob back in one piece.” Dean leaned forward, his eyes concerned and focused. “Now it’s _your_ turn, pint-size,” he said softly. “I know Scar wasn’t the only one to get hurt.”  
  
Sam’s lips thinned to a line. “It’s just bruises,” he said flatly. “I’m fine.”  
  
Bowman inched towards Sam, staring at him critically. He knew very well how much damage human hands could do. His bottom half was mottled with deep bruises that he knew were there but refused to look at. It only took one hand for Jacob to manage that, and he was _holding back._ The other human teen didn't seem like the type to hold back at all, if he'd snapped Scar's wing so easily.  
  
"Sam, that human back there ... He hurt you both. Even with a cage he decided to break Scar's blasted wing. And you've been carrying yourself carefully since I found you hiding." He raised an eyebrow, as if daring Sam to deny what he'd seen.  
  
“But it’s not like I _broke an arm,_ ” Sam countered stubbornly. “He just… poked me a few times.” _Dangled me by my leg._  
  
Sam refused to voice that part, staring stubbornly back at Dean.  
  
“Sammy, at least let us put some ice on it,” Dean begged, leaning down so his chin was just about touching the table. “For me?”  
  
Sam let out an exasperated sigh at the sight of Dean’s attempt at puppy eyes, rolling his own. It was so damn hard to resist that expression, magnified so many times over in Dean’s huge eyes, the surface glassy enough that Sam could spot his reflection in them if he tried. “ _Fine,_ ” he said grouchily. “If it’ll make you happy.”  
  
Dean sent Jacob a look for more ice, then found his attention ensnared again as Sam sat down on the table. The tiny knight took off his belt again, setting it and the sword next to him on the table. The jacket followed, then with a wince Sam pulled the soft brown shirt he was wearing over his head. Dean had to hold in a gasp at the sight.  
  
Sam’s tiny chest was mottled with bruises, and his shoulder was the same. All were in the shape of fingers, displaying just how little Bobby cared for what he did to them.  
  
“ ‘Just a few pokes?’ ” Dean repeated back. He reached a cautious hand forward, and brushed lightly against Sam’s small chest. “We’re lucky if he didn’t bruise your _ribs_.”  
  
Both sprites winced at the sight of Sam's bruises, so stark against his lighter skin. While Jacob set about getting more ice, Bowman sat down heavily near the other two. His legs were stretched out in front of himself, and he tried to sit so that they were comfortable. Now that the search was over, his own injuries decided to twinge with pain. Everyone had something to recover from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys need some serious recovery time!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** April 29th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	20. Family Don't End in Blood

Scar sighed and stared angrily at the bruises marking Sam up and down. He'd been manhandled by that brat of a human, all for speaking out of turn. Scar had been unable to prevent any of it, which was his _job_ as the knight in charge.  
  
"You'll need some Prayers of your own," he determined. Before Sam could try to brush aside his own injury and insist he was fine, Scar added, "I need everyone in the best shape they can be, as usual."  
  
Jacob returned with another ice pack, this one bigger than Scar's. He set it down near Sam and Bowman and then took the other chair at the table at last. He leaned his chin on his hand and told them, "That's for both of you. Bowman, you could probably use some ice, too."  
  
Sam had to restrain another eyeroll, but gave in. He _was_ sore, and it wasn’t like Dean to give in. _That_ couldn’t have changed, even in the years since he was a headstrong teen. With a wince, Sam leaned back against the icepack, letting the chill soak in and numb the pain. His eyes fell closed as the soreness he’d dealt with for the last day waned.  
  
Dean sat up with them finally taken care of, turning his thoughts to other jobs of import. “We need to eat,” he determined. They hadn’t taken the time to stop and grab a bite with everyone so injured in the car, leaving the three humans starving and the sprites feeling hunger pangs. They could live off sunlight but food would be better for them, especially after the strain of the last day. “You want to order something?” he asked Jacob, digging out a credit card he’d set up using one of his many scams. “I’ll pay.”  
  
Jacob glanced over the three on the table, each blissfully relaxing against their ice packs, and nodded. It would be good for everyone to finally get some food in their bellies. It struck him all of a sudden that he hadn't even stopped for food on the way to Bobby's; in their hurry, they'd gone straight there.  
  
The excitement at his former friend's house had pushed all thought of food out of his mind, and he was willing to bet Dean was the same. "Yeah, I'll order something," he agreed, leaning over to grab a pamphlet off the dresser. The local pizza restaurant advertised their number and a small menu on it, perfect for the job.  
  
While Jacob took Dean's card and leaned back to poke at his phone, Bowman surveyed the damage on all of them yet again. Rischa would be waiting at home, fretting, only for the three brothers she'd adopted as her own to come home battered and bruised. She would have words for all of them, he was certain.  
  
"You shoulda seen Dean after he got his arm fixed up," Bowman pointed out suddenly, aiming a thumb at the human while looking at Sam. "Head in the clouds like I've never seen before."  
  
“Really?” Sam’s eyebrows went up, and he turned to Dean, catching him with a deer-in-headlights look since he’d been staring at the bruises that covered Sam’s tiny chest. Sam ignored that, starting to get used to the staring. He’d only discovered them the day before and needed time to adjust to everything and until then couldn’t help himself. “What did you do?”  
  
“I…” Dean trailed off, scrunching his forehead in concentration as he worked to recall the night before. Driving from the forest, leaving Bowman in the car, the hospital… and then nothing. “I have no idea,” Dean had to admit. “I just remember getting my arm set then I was waking up today with Bowman using me as a bed.”  
  
Jacob was already ringing the pizza place, so all he could do was smirk as he remembered every one of Dean's antics from the moment he walked back to the waiting room. From the looks of things, Bowman remembered enough too, because the tired little sprite snickered. If he could, Jacob would have pointed out that Bowman wasn't far from the same state himself with his sun-deprived wings drooping down so much the night before.  
  
Bowman didn't notice Jacob's look. "He said I look like a _fairy,_ " he said, exasperated as he could be. He remembered Sam making a similar comparison at one point in their childhood. "Someone got the wrong information into _all_ of your heads at some point."  
  
“You _do_ look like a fairy,” Dean protested in an attempt to save himself. “It’s not _my_ fault. The only thing that would make you more fairy-like is if you had butterfly wings to go along with the whole forest getup.”  
  
Sam grinned in turn. He’d _warned_ the sprites that might happen, knowing just what image most people had in their heads for fairies. With their size working against them, along with wings and forest style clothing, _especially_ what any flowerkin wore, the end result was Bowman would never escape that impression. “It’s your lot in life,” he quipped gamely as he shifted his position again. There was no way to be completely comfortable, considering how cold he was getting, but it did help the pain.  
  
Bowman huffed and crossed his arms. He glanced down at his boots, fashioned out of sturdy leaves and tree bark, and at the earthy tones of his other clothing. Even the scarf around his waist was reminiscent of the joyful dandelions that grew in patches wherever there was enough sunlight for them.  
  
He glanced over at Scar to see what he thought of the whole thing, but the injured knight's eyelids were drooping. His hands, so often clenched into fists for the last 24 hours, rested in his lap. From the looks of things, none of the conversation got through to him, and Bowman didn't dare wake him.  
  
Instead of finding the opportunity to defend himself any further, Bowman flinched when Jacob's deep voice spoke up. "Yeah, hey," he greeted the phone in his hand, a sight that still baffled Bowman despite knowing what it was. "I'd like to order for delivery over at the _Oasis Motel,_ it's-- yeah, over on sixth. Just want a large pizza with vegetarian on one half and pepperoni on the other," he paused to glance across the table at Dean in case he had a protest about the food, but when he got nothing his focus was on the call again. "Card. Yeah, here's the numbers."  
  
When he started to read something off of the card Dean handed him, Bowman turned back to Sam. "What's that thing he's got there?"   
  
“It’s, a, uh…” Sam met Dean’s eyes in a question. “Credit card?” He got a nod in return, giving him confidence to finish his answer. “Humans use them to pay for food or anything they need. Remember way back when you first met me?” Sam had to smile at the memory of his first day in the cottonwood tree, when Gunner had taken him in and he’d found a tiny, fluttering sprite who was excited for a friend. “I didn’t have any money on me, so I didn’t know if I could have any food,” Sam recounted. “Credit cards either store money on them or you can borrow money if you don’t have it, and then you can get what you need.”  
  
Bowman remembered that first day Sam arrived and he doubted he'd ever forget it. A lot had changed that day, and it had begun a stream of questions between the both of them that hardly slowed down for months. "Money" was something that humans used to trade for things, a concept that the sprites didn't adhere to much.  
  
He glanced back at the card in Jacob's hand before frowning slightly and shrugging. It didn't look like that thing could store much of anything, but then again there were a lot of human things that didn't look like they should be able to do what they did. Like the phone Jacob talked into.  
  
"I guess it makes sense ... but I'm glad we don't do money in Wellwood." To Bowman, simple was better in many cases. It meant less time worrying about where the food might come from and more time to fly until the daylight waned.  
  
“It works better in the Wellwood,” Sam agreed, remembering how worried he’d been that first day. He hadn’t had any money on him when the curse struck (Dean had always carried the money between the two brothers), so the first thing that rose to mind when they needed food was _I can’t pay for that._ His entire life before that, after all, had been spent with his family scraping by and only _just_ managing to get enough to eat, many times at Dean’s expense if he couldn’t find enough for both of them.  
  
The way the sprites got food, it was available to all. Each day people would go out and help the community gather enough. Sam had been a part of that many times, discovering just what was edible in the forest. It was a peaceful way of life.  
  
So long as Bowman wasn’t putting him up to grabbing all the honeycomb in the storeroom. _That_ had made for an interesting day.  
  
“You’ll have to tell me all about it.”  
  
Sam glanced up, surprised at the uncertain sound in Dean’s voice. The hunter’s eyes were distant, maybe thinking about his own childhood. They’d grown up apart, separated by more than just distance.  
  
“Of course, Dean,” Sam said solemnly. “I’ve always wished you were around to hear about it.”  
  
Bowman paused to reflect on Dean's expression. Behind him, Jacob finished up calling for food and fell silent as well. For a second or two, the room was peacefully quiet, but Bowman was focused on the solemn expression above. He'd always wished Dean could be around, too. Even after he found out that Sam used to be giant, and thus his brother would be too, Bowman always wanted to meet him.  
  
"Sam came to live with me and my dad while the searches were going on," he spoke up, breaking the silence and hoping the words wouldn't be out of place. Even if Sam and Dean weren't the same species, Bowman knew well that family was stronger than that; Sam _was_ his brother, and that meant Dean was, too.  
  
"I was barely more than a sprout back then, really. Having an older kid around meant I could go exploring more without someone getting after me for it. We went all over the village."  
  
Sam leaned over and made a snatch at Bowman's hair, aiming to ruffle it just like he'd done as a kid. “ _This_ guy could hardly sit still for a few minutes. I think I kept him out of trouble more times than not.”  
  
The very edge of Dean's lips turned up at that and he put his arm on the table. Leaning on it put him closer to their level and let him feel less like the outsider. They were letting him in on their lives growing up, and that felt special, especially since he was one of only _two_ (full-sized) humans that had seen the village in living memory.  
  
“Bowman showed me everything,” Sam told Dean. “I even got to visit the village archives. Since they don't have paper or notebooks like we do, there's a place inside the cottonwood tree where their history is inscribed on the walls.”  
  
“That's just like your home was,” Dean remembered, his eyes brightening at the memory of the tiny home in the branch.  
  
Sam nodded. “I leaned the sprite script but I still sometimes write with the Roman alphabet,” he confided.  
  
Bowman flicked his wings and shifted away from his ice pack for a break, but added without missing a beat, "I learned your blocky letters, too. All the blasted corners humans have on everything used to really throw me for a loop."  
  
Bowman remembered Sam handing him a sheet of paper on their first day. He'd been so fascinated with the sheer corners on it that he'd run his fingers over them repeatedly just to feel the texture. He'd done it so much that he bent them over and ruined the rectangular shape, something that had distressed him when he was a child. Sam had always assured him it was okay to bend the paper.  
  
"Sam used to make paper birds for me when we were kids. As a nestling who hadn't learned to fly yet, I _loved_ those things. He told me you taught him how to make them."  
  
Jacob watched in silence and some awe. The conversation in front of him would probably seem so strange to any outsider. Three people that didn't quite match each other, catching up on their lives apart. He was seeing a family knit itself together right in front of him, and couldn't help a faint smile at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the great Bobby Singer would say, family don't end in blood! These brothers have a lot to discover about each other!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** May 3rd, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	21. Paper Birds and Mushrooms

_Paper birds?_ Dean mouthed at Sam in some confusion, eliciting a smile from his younger brother.  
  
“Paper _airplanes_ ,” Sam corrected with the tone of someone who'd long since given up trying to argue with the name. “Y’know that pen I used to write down the exorcism with? That's not the _only_ thing I had on me from the motel.” His ears turned red at the memory, sheepish about taking stuff from the room. “I had the notebook they supplied the room with on me too. I think most of the pages ended up being used for paper airplanes.”  
  
“I'm surprised you didn't run off with the Bible,” Dean joked, a full smile finally overtaking his face at the easy banter between them.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes with a bitchy glare. Then it vanished to be replaced with a matching smile to Dean's. “I found out why my paper airplanes vanished so much when I found that Bowman would save every one he could.”  
  
Bowman's wings lifted a little, bristling with him in mock indignation. The paper airplanes he'd saved were probably _still_ at the bottom of his trunk somewhere, along with his other few keepsakes. "Well, I liked them. And can ya blame me? Once you were out of paper, that was it. It's not like leaf boats where you can go get more anytime, right?"  
  
"Leaf boats?" Jacob prompted before he could stop himself. He didn't want to break his way into their reunion or interrupt their catching up, but his curiosity was piqued.  
  
Bowman twisted around to nod at him, hardly minding the interjection. "Leaf boats. We all fold them out of leaves we find lying around and race them down the stream. They usually float away so we never get to keep them." He faced front again and settled one of his wings on his lap to preen it absently.  
  
"Sam figured out how to make bigger boats because he's so blasted strong," Bowman quipped, and there was something in his voice that suggested it lead to more than one good-natured scolding. "No sprite's nearly as strong as Sam is. I'm just lucky he didn't end up _taller_ than me, too."  
  
“Stronger?” Dean blurted, focusing right on that tidbit. “Sam's the strongest?”  
  
Sam nodded, following suit with Bowman and pulling himself away from the ice. His movements were stiff as he nearly crawled over to his jacket and supplies. “We didn't notice until I was a teenager, but I suddenly just got stronger. A _lot_ stronger. Scar tested it. I was the youngest knight, still learning, and he had all the other knights wrestle me, one by one. None of them come close.”  
  
While Dean digested that new information, Sam pulled his shirt on over his head, inordinately glad of the soft sprite-made fabric. It was cool and gentle against his bruises. The jacket and belt he left off for comfort’s sake.  
  
“That's pretty awesome,” Dean decided at last. “My brother, the heavyweight hitter.”  
  
"He could pin down a snake with his bare hands since he was barely more than a boy," a gruff, tired voice joined in. Scar's eyes were open, but still clearly tired after the ordeal. Now that they'd escaped, a lot of his energy went towards his wing, leaving little for his body to use to keep the dozing at bay. "It takes a rare kind of strength to be able to keep _Leafwing_ here from taking off."  
  
Bowman rolled his eyes and his wings twitched. "I stayed on the ground 'cause I wanted him to be able to finish his glider," he countered hotly, trying to evade Scar's teasing. In truth, Sam only needed one hand on his wing to keep him from effectively taking off, preventing him from getting the right angle to take flight.  
  
“You mean I kept you grounded so you could practice your Prayer,” Sam corrected with a sly gleam in his eyes. Pausing, he frowned. “What happened to my glider?” he asked, realizing the last time he’d seen it, he’d left it on the ground to run and check on Bobby.  
  
Right before being captured.  
  
Dean’s eyes softened. “We found it,” he reassured Sam, his voice a soothing rumble. “I took it back to your place and put it in the garage. It’ll be there waiting for you.”  
  
Bowman nodded to confirm the story. "It's in good shape. Ready to fly anytime," he assured him. Bowman might not be as in tune with the contraption as Sam had to be, but he had learned enough from him over the years to be able to check on most of it. In his desperate hope of gleaning what might have happened, Bowman had checked the glider the night before.  
  
Now, they were bringing Sam back and he'd be able to double check it himself. That was no small relief for anyone there.  
  
Scar shared in that feeling, and sighed. He remembered his own pride when Sam finally took to the air on his own. Once the only wingless knight was able to leave the ground behind, it had opened him to so much more.  
  
Scar winced slightly as his cold wing throbbed with dulled pain. He scooted forward gingerly, careful to keep from jostling his injury. "A test flight will be in order, then," he mused. Then, looking ruefully at his wing again, he added, "Someday this wing will heal. Then you'll have to see us spar, Dean. Sam's shown you his flying but he's taken on many skills since arriving in Wellwood."  
  
“You make it sound like you’re wing will be out of commission for like a year,” Sam said gamely to Scar. “Not just a week.” He looked up at Dean. “Scar taught me everything I know about the sword.” He pointed at Jacob. “I even got a good hit on him when we first met. He was so shocked to find us he grabbed Bowman. Never got a hold on me though.” Sam was proud of that memory. Even landing on the back of Jacob’s hand after his attack had worked well to confound his giant foe. Sam had just found himself dragged into the air along with the hand when Jacob flinched back from his blade.  
  
“I can’t wait to see you in action,” Dean said. Hesitantly, he sat so he wasn’t leaning on his arm and reached for the tiny rapier, pausing before he grabbed it until Sam nodded his permission. The tiny sword was almost weightless in Dean’s hand but he could feel the cool metal and the edges were honed to a keen point. “I taught Sam what I could about his knife, but our lessons got cut off before we finished.”  
  
Sam patted his jacket. “I never leave my home without my knife,” he assured his older brother.  
  
“Me either,” Dean said with a feral grin. He held out the sword on a finger, letting Sam take it back and place it with his jacket. Then, Dean sat the rest of the way up and slipped his hand into the inside of his leather jacket. The silver blade of his matching knife gleamed in the dim motel light.  
  
The glint caught Bowman and Scar's attention, and even Jacob's gaze flickered to it from Dean's proud expression. Scar admired the construction of the blade. The sprites had several daggers in their armory, but not many of the knights knew how to use them. He'd been glad to help Sam continue his training with his own weapon, to the best of his knowledge.  
  
"Sam's kept up with your lessons," he confirmed. "Every asset is accepted among the knights. I took the liberty of adding a few lessons of my own." Scar's voice, though tired, was full of nothing but pride for how far Sam had come, and he truly hoped to see a similar pride from Dean. Sam had worked hard.  
  
"Waitasecond," Bowman interjected, still peering at Dean's shining blade. "Is that ... are you saying that Sam's blade is supposed to be that big?"  
  
“Of _course_ it is,” Sam answered with a knowing grin. He had a hard time believing it himself now that he could see the sheer scale difference between their blades. “Dean's the one that made it.”  
  
“And _this_ knife was a practice run for Sam's,” Dean confirmed. “I needed to make sure I wouldn't fuck up Sam's present after all the planning that went into it.” His eyes softened. “I can't wait to see what you've learned from the sprites. Maybe I could learn a trick or two myself.”  
  
“Or show _us_ a trick or two,” Sam pointed out. “I'd love to see what you've learned.”  
  
With a gleam in his eye, Dean agreed. “Deal.” He tucked the knife away. It vanished into the folds of the leather jacket without a trace like so many other things before it. In fact, Sam, Bowman and Scar could all hide out inside with no one the wiser on the outside.  
  
Sam held out a hand, offering to ‘seal the deal’ with his older brother. He managed to hide any sign of a flinch as Dean's fingers gently closed around his slim hand. They shook once, going up and down slowly so Dean didn't strain the tiny arm.  
  
“Maybe there will even be a chance to show you the poisons the sprites use,” Sam said as he took his arm back, amazed as always that humans could be so gentle. Especially after his experience with Bobby.  
  
Jacob thought he might be interested in that topic, too. If not for fighting, then at least for his own wilderness skills; knowing more about what was poisonous couldn't hurt. Before he could chime in, he paused to listen to the sound of a car engine pulling up close to the door.  
  
"I'm betting that's the food," he said, even as the muffled sound of a car door slamming reached them. Bowman and Scar's wings twitched and they glanced towards the door. Jacob pushed his chair back, announced "I'll get it," and then stood.  
  
Scar watched warily as Jacob went to the door. His hand was on the knob before one knock even resounded around the room. When he opened it, he blocked the view into the room with his bulky frame. Even so, Scar was tense until he heard a _thank you_ and Jacob stepped back into the room with a wide, flat box in his hands.  
  
"What in the Spirit's dance is that?" he asked, voicing Bowman's sentiment as well.  
  
“It’s pizza,” Sam said, brightening instantly as the familiar smells washed over him on the table. In all his years living with the sprites, as much as he loved the food they made, there was nothing quite like a combination of tomato sauce, cheese and crust like humans had come up with. He’d heard Jacob, who was used to the fact that sprite didn’t eat any meat, order vegetarian on half of the pie, which would give them all plenty to choose from without any worry. “One of my favorite foods when I was growing up.”  
  
“It’s a staple,” Dean agreed as he made room for the pizza box past the three tiny guys resting with their ice packs. The first aid kit was put back together and dropped on the floor next to his chair.  
  
“It’s got cheese on it,” Sam told Bowman. “It’s a bit different than the kind Jacob let us try before, but it’s _really_ good. And tomatoes, and crust, along with vegetables on it. Just stay away from Dean and Jacob’s side. It’ll have meat on it. They made sure to get some that we could eat without worrying about that.”  
  
"They better have," Bowman answered absently, watching the wide flat box lower to the table in Jacob's hands. The smell of the food washed over them like a breeze, and he could see the air wavering just above the box in a heat haze. Most of the smells were entirely new to him, and when Jacob moved the pile of napkins that came with the box to the side, Bowman sat up straighter to peer curiously over the box.  
  
The lid lifted away, and the food within the box threw off even more heat haze. "Woah," Bowman muttered, staring at the strange mixture of unfamiliar vegetables, cheese, and what he assumed was the meat Sam mentioned all arranged farthest from them. Jacob picked up one of the pieces, and Bowman's wings fanned at the sight of the cheese melting over the side at first before it broke away.  
  
Jacob set the piece aside for them on a few napkins and pushed it closer, and Bowman pointed at it. "Hey, it's got mushrooms on it," he realized, finally recognizing _something_ about the steaming hot food.  
  
Sam got up, grinning at that as he pulled his own knife from his jacket. “That’s right.” With Bowman’s legs injured and Scar needing to keep his wing in place to avoid jarring it, Sam decided to get everyone’s food. He didn’t pay any mind to Dean reaching over to snag his own piece covered in pepperoni.  
  
The heat haze rising from the pizza was warm against Sam’s hands. Sprites did warm water to make pine tea, but using heat like that wasn’t anywhere near as common as it was with humans. Not to mention heating the water or food was strictly done with Prayer and not fire the way humans did, leaving it another thing that Sam couldn’t do and he’d have to drag Bowman to his home. The sprite was resigned to it.  
  
His knife made it easy to slice away three pieces of the pizza. He was certain to get mushroom on both Scar and Bowman’s pieces, and took all three back, balanced precariously on his hands. “Here we go,” Sam murmured as he dropped one off with Scar and the other with Bowman, then gave them both a hopeful look as he took his own seat with his slide. “It’s good,” Sam promised as he lifted up his to take a bite.  
  
Jacob paused with his own slice of pizza in hand, watching the two sprites look over their portions of pizza. The pieces looked almost comically large in their hands, like deep-dish pizza on steroids. Scar nearly fumbled his right to the tabletop as he shifted to sit up straighter.  
  
Bowman was first to try it. He blinked and raised his eyebrows in appreciation for the flavor, though he stopped to let it cool down a bit. "I suppose it's good," he determined, picking at a piece of mushroom sticking out of the cheese. "Never thought of cooking mushrooms before."  
  
Jacob smirked and finished off his first bite of pizza before answering. "That's actually how most humans eat them, if they eat them at all." Scar scoffed quietly at the notion, but nibbled on his own food curiously.  
  
"You humans and your endless weirdness," Bowman quipped, flicking his wings before settling them on the table behind him to relax.  
  
“Humans cook _most_ of their food,” Sam said with a grin, glad for things to be going back to their normal banter about how strange his people were. It was what he’d done with Bowman since his curse. Constant arguments about corners, size, food… and it was always entertaining.  
  
“Who cares about mushrooms,” Dean mumbled around his own slice. “Give me some pepperoni or sausage any day.” He wrinkled his nose when Sam waved a mushroom over his head and then pointedly took a bite out of it.  
  
Some things never changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jacob might want to lay off the mushrooms... ;)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** May 6th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	22. A Hunter's Fears

Bowman snickered and pulled his own piece of mushroom free of the pizza. It tasted different cooked, but he still liked it. Humans might be odd, but that didn't mean all their strange ideas were _bad._ "You can have that stuff all you want," he quipped. "No meat for me."  
  
Scar smirked. "I have to agree. I might have a lot of respect for the wolves but I'm not about to eat like them."  
  
"We'll take care of it for you, don't worry," Jacob assured them. _And probably the rest of the vegetarian pizza, too_ he thought more to himself. The one slice he had set aside for them was still far more food than three tiny people could eat. Luckily, Jacob didn't mind mushrooms on his pizza.  
  
Dean, on the other hand, definitely _did._ He snatched up another slice of pepperoni to start in on. “Good, more for me.”  
  
Sam had to hide a smile in his own bite of pizza. Everyone was getting along so well. He could feel a warmth in his chest at the thought of both his worlds fitting together just like he’d fit into them. It meant the world to him that Bowman and Dean were sassing each other with no regard for how different they could be.  
  
“Tomorrow,” Sam said out loud, pulling the others attention to himself, “there will be more chances for sunlight.” He didn’t say the rest. That the entire time he and Scar had been captured Bobby had sealed them away from the sun. Inside of a dark glove box, out in a room with the windows shaded.  
  
Dean nodded, sobering up in light of the reminder. “As much as everyone needs.” He wasn’t going to forget what he’d learned about the sprites from Jacob anytime soon.  
  
Scar hummed thoughtfully and glanced over his shoulder at his injured wing. Some sunlight after everything else it had been through would do wonders for him, and he knew he'd be spending as much time in the sun as he could once they were all safely back home. From the way Bowman's own shoulders sagged, he was exhausted, too.  
  
"You'll definitely get all the light you need for the trip back. Should be clear skies tomorrow," Jacob added. He helped himself to another slice, this time taking from the vegetarian side.  
  
Bowman's wings stretched behind him before settling back down on the table. He truly couldn't imagine being in Scar's state. Unable to fly, unable to even move his wing without hurting it, Scar was more vulnerable than Bowman had ever seen him. His healing couldn't come soon enough.  
  
"We'll be fine," he said confidently.  
  
“You won’t have to worry about a thing tomorrow,” Dean reassured them. “We’ll make sure everyone gets back to the village safely. That’s what we’re here for.”  
  
Since they’d all put their pizza down and were shifting around like they were ready to sleep, Dean held out his hand. He’d finished his two slices and there were more waiting, but first things first. He needed to take care of the others before himself. It was an old remnant of his protective instincts with a little brother around, returning to the front of his mind with Sam back as though it had never been gone. He felt more like himself than he had in years.  
  
“How ‘bout we get you guys settled in for the night?” Dean offered. “The sooner you sleep, the sooner we get you to Cerul and Rischa.”  
  
Scar smirked. "Am I that obvious?" he quipped, not bothering to deny his own exhaustion. The sooner he could heal, the sooner that would go away and he could return to his duties protecting the Wellwood like he was supposed to. He was certain his remaining knights had everything under control in his and Sam's absence, but all the same Scar was itching to see the state of his village.  
  
Jacob finished off his pizza quickly before standing up and brushing his hands off absently. "Maybe a pillow," he mused out loud. He crossed to one of the beds and fished one of its worn out pillows out from underneath the neatly-tucked blankets.  
  
Scar's eyebrows shot up and he chuckled at what to him was a comically large bed. "Oh, I'll try to manage," he said dryly, before taking the opportunity to glance around the rest of the room again. If he wasn't so tired, and becoming more so by the second, he might have asked about some of the strange sights that greeted his eyes.  
  
“Don’t worry, you’re not the only one,” Sam said, stifling a yawn into his arm. After the excitement of the night before and the uncertainty of the day, he was thankful to have escaped that house without any broken bones of his own. The memory of seeing Dean standing there with a gun held on Bobby might be one of his most treasured, despite the bad memories that tied to it.  
  
Scooping up the knight jacket, his belt and the rapier, Sam was sure to brush his knife off on one of the napkins nearby to clean off the remaining pizza sauce. He tucked it away in the hidden pocket of his jacket then stepped onto Dean’s offered hand.  
  
Bowman got to his feet to offer Scar a hand before he could even think about standing up himself. Scar rolled his eyes but accepted his help, making his way over to Dean's careful hand with a flick of his uninjured wing. "You're all acting like I'm some withered little elder," he groused mildly, planting his feet the best he could on Dean's callused palm.  
  
"Just you wait 'til the healers get to you," Bowman shot back. While only two sprites in Wellwood had the healing touch, several more were proficient enough in their Prayers to help with the healing. They would be fussing just as much, as was their duty when a knight returned injured.  
  
Sam winced. “Once they get you, there’s no escape until they decide you’re healed.” That might be enough on its own to drive his mentor to distraction.  
  
The village would have its hands full trying to keep Scar still long enough to finish healing.  
  
Dean brought his hand close to his chest, giving them an extra wall in case the ride was unsteady at all. The pillow Jacob had set up was waiting for them, and Dean stooped down to let them off. “I’ve got an extra shirt if you need something to keep warm with,” he said as Sam helped Scar carefully down from his hand.  
  
“That’s probably a good idea,” Sam admitted, thinking that a blanket would be easier on his bruises than putting his jacket back on.  
  
Dean bustled around the room, gathering up one of the warm flannels he had in his duffel. It was one of the few clean shirts he had left. It took up half of the pillow, leaving them room to set up their sleep area the way they decided. Once it was set up, he made his way back to the table, planning on finishing any pepperoni that Jacob made the mistake of leaving in the box.  
  
Scar gave up his grousing once he was settled on the pillow with the shirt fabric over his legs. He felt like he was sitting on a cloud, and he sighed begrudgingly. It would do. It was a thousand times more luxurious than he usually had, that was for blasted sure.  
  
He settled down awkwardly, wincing once or twice as he shifted his wing. He already anticipated the healers and Cerul would advise that he stay in bed or seated in the sunlight while his wing healed. It sounded like more agony than the broken wing itself, to sit still for so long doing _nothing._ He fell asleep to the determined thought that he'd find something for himself to do, no matter what they said.  
  
Bowman waited until Scar's eyelids closed to focus on Sam again. With the humans back over at the table, they had a moment on their own. Bowman had never seen his brother so beat up, even though he'd been a knight for years now. There were a few scratches and bumps along the way, but nothing that spoke so loudly of how truly awful a human was capable of being.  
  
"You gonna be alright?" he asked quietly.  
  
Sam’s hand almost went to the sleeve of his shirt, unconsciously seeking to hide the bruises that were peeking out. He stilled the instinct before following through. Bowman already knew how bad he was hurt. There was no hiding it.  
  
“I’ll…” Sam had to close his mouth and try to clear his throat before going on. Now that it was all over and done with, he could feel the residual terror from being in Bobby’s hands lurking in the back of his mind. Even going so far as to be _dangled_ by one leg, upside down. If Sam didn’t have so much assurance in his skills at catching himself midair with his wingsuit, that might have broken him right there.  
  
The shudder that ran through his body was involuntary. “I’ll be fine,” he said quietly, looking away from Dean and Jacob sitting at the table in the room. He had to remind himself that he was _safe._ They were all safe so long as they were with the two humans. They’d both proven themselves more than once.  
  
That thought didn’t make it easier. He would always know, firsthand, just how easily they could take his freedom away.  
  
“I just need time,” Sam mumbled, almost to himself. Maybe if he said it enough he’d start believing it.  
  
Bowman's brow pinched in worry. "Yeah. Of course." He knew better than to push too much and try to pry anything more out of Sam. He recognized well enough when his brother didn't want to talk about something. It used to happen when they were younger, and Sam reflected on his old life before his curse.  
  
Those times, he closed up and got a distant look on his face. Rischa would go and sit with him quietly. Even before they knew she had the Voice, she always knew when Sam simply needed quiet companionship while he fell into his thoughts.  
  
This time, Sam was holding back something different. Considering the state of Scar's wing, Bowman could only guess what sorts of things Sam had endured. He'd simply avoided having any bones broken, though the human remained in Bowman's memory as a fearsome thing. He'd only seen him for all of a few minutes, and it was enough.  
  
"There'll be plenty of time," Bowman added with a nod. He lay back on the pillow, staring at the faraway ceiling of the room. He might not know much about healing like Rischa and Cerul, but he'd do his best to help Sam however he could.  
  
"Maybe in a couple days we can do a patrol. Go out gliding and clear our heads and just check on things."  
  
Sam’s face was as distant in the present as it was in Bowman’s memories. “I’d like that.” He settled down on the pillow, but instead of staring up at the ceiling, he took a moment to gather the flannel shirt around him. It was clean and fresh, but even so a scent that called to mind his brother’s face clung to it. It was comforting, and gave Sam something else to hold onto in the massive room.  
  
Despite the fact that he’d grown up in rooms just like this one, it was unfamiliar and alien because of the sheer size of things. The bed alone was large enough to play a football game on if they could get enough teammates, and high enough off the ground that they’d get hurt if they stumbled off during the night.  
  
It was different than his memories, and it always would be.  
  
Sam pulled the flannel shirt close around his body. Instead of sprawling out like he normally did in his own home, he curled into as small a ball as he could. The shirt became a warm cocoon that guarded him from the sight of the world around him.  
  
Over at the table, Jacob slowed down on his vegetarian pizza to glance over at the pillow. All three of its occupants had settled in, though for a moment he couldn't even find Sam. While he watched, Bowman turned over on his side and covered himself with a wing. He'd curl up more and more throughout the night.  
  
"Looks like they're out," Jacob remarked. He leaned back in his chair and glanced ruefully at Dean's arm. From the start, he'd felt swept up in things. The moment he'd caught Bowman, his life had changed.  
  
Now, his best friend of years was effectively gone. Bobby survived his possession but he'd been twisted beyond recognition. Jacob couldn't help but wonder what might have happened to him if Dean hadn't managed to exorcise him.  
  
He sighed faintly. "Dude, I'm ... I'm sorry for what Bobby did. This feels like something I coulda done more to prevent. Somehow. I'll make sure he doesn't ... I'll keep an eye on him."  
  
Dean put what was left of his slice down, the rest of his appetite fleeing at the memory of Bobby, completely exorcised and returned to himself, protesting that if they took Sam and Scar _back,_ they were stealing. The sheer presumption of the teenager would never sit well with Dean. Saving him only to have him turn on them and take two people away from their home against their will.  
  
“None of that was your fault,” Dean stated gruffly, leaving no room for argument in his tone. “There was no way to know how he’d react to being possessed. It looks to me like the demon found something it was looking for in Bobby. _You_ didn’t have that reaction.”  
  
He glanced over at the bed, smiling faintly at the sight of the three tiny people all sleeping away. All that was visible of Sam was the fluffy brown hair sticking out of a fold in the dark shirt.  
  
“Everyone’s safe, and that’s what matters,” Dean reaffirmed. “And if Bobby does _anything,_ give me a call _first._ There’s no telling what he’ll be capable of if he kidnapped two people with no remorse. I’ll leave you my main number. I always answer it.”  
  
Jacob's eyebrows arched and he nodded in surprise. "Alright. I'll definitely let you know if I see anything," he replied. He followed Dean's glance over at the pillow one last time, this time seeing no stirring. The three of them were out cold. They were safe. Jacob would do what he could to keep things that way.  
  
His eyes fell on the sling still cradling Dean's arm. It was, apparently, one wound of so many that the hunter had dealt with over the years. "Ever since I met Sam and Bowman I've wondered how much I've seen that might actually have to do with something supernatural," he admitted. Just a moment later, he chuckled sheepishly. "Y'know, I think I jumped in over my head."  
  
Dean waved that off. “I think that’s the _only_ way people get pulled into hunting,” he said dryly. “Trust me, anyone with half a sense would run the complete opposite direction.” He sighed as he thought back on his own life. There wasn’t much else he could have done, the way he was raised. It was just who he was now. All the way from childhood he’d been trained to hunt and fight.  
  
Sam had been the one that was spared most of that, for all the good it had done him. He’d still suffered and been cast away from his family under a curse none of them saw coming. The small knight had lived up to his potential, even after having his size and family ripped away. He protected the people who’d raised him, and from what Dean had seen, as little as that was, Sam was _good_ at what he did.  
  
It was hard to look away from the pillow, knowing that among the folds of that shirt slept his little brother. So many years Dean had thought Sam dead and buried, and instead he was resting peacefully not five feet from the table.  
  
With effort, Dean tore his attention away from the bed. “Look, just don’t go running headlong into anything without being prepared,” he told Jacob. “There’s a lot more out there than anyone knows about.”  
  
Jacob put his hands up in mock surrender and shook his head. "I don't think you gotta worry about that with me," he answered confidently. "I never look for trouble, but it does find me sometimes." Now, he supposed, he would be ready for it. If nothing else, he was already dealing with the revelation that things aren't all what they seem. He could skip panic next time and get right to calling for help.  
  
"I think for now I'll stick to checking on Wellwood every once in a while," he mused more quietly, eyeing the ice packs he'd put together. They were melting and soaking into the rags, so he absently pushed them all into a pile. "They didn't even know humans _existed_ until Sam showed up there, so I hear."  
  
Dean stared down at the table, remembering how small the circle of three had been. Two sprites and a cursed human, taking up less space than Dean needed if he wanted to rest an arm on the table. “I’m somehow not surprised.”  
  
Not once in all Dean’s years of hunting had he ever heard of sprites like the ones sleeping in the room with them. “It’ll be good to keep an eye on them,” he agreed. “Just in case _another_ person like Bobby finds them. If they ever run into trouble down the line, I’d want to be there. They saved Sam when we gave him up for dead. I owe them… everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's looking like it's wrapped up nicely, but Dean can't stop from dwelling on the 'what ifs'
> 
> Two more chapters left!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Next:** May 10th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	23. Weird Lives

Jacob nodded as he listened to Dean’s affirmation, and couldn't help but smile as he thought about the day before. Seeing the village for the first time had been incredible. The sprites hadn't fled from the two giants in their midst, since many of them had heard about humans for years from Sam. They'd heard specifically about _Dean._ A good human that they could all trust without question, and when he finally arrived, they _did._

"Judging by yesterday, I'm betting you'll make up for a lot by babysitting some nestlings," he quipped. The feeling of the tiniest little shoes walking on his hand or his shoulders would never lose its novelty, Jacob was certain. Those kids hadn't even had a chance to play with Sam's " _big_ big brother."

A strange, almost alien happiness came over Dean at that. “Ya think?” he asked, a bit of awe in his eyes. He’d seen Jacob with the nestlings, but most of his time in the village had been spent either with Sam at his home or planning their fight with Scar.

The children that visited with Jacob were _so small._ Especially the tiny nestling that had gotten a piggyback ride on Sam’s shoulders. _While_ they were both standing on Jacob’s knee. Within reach of not one human, but two after Dean came over to join them.

“They really do trust us, don’t they?” Dean asked, the awe lingering in his voice.

"I think they really do," Jacob said softly, equal awe and appreciation in his own voice. An entire community of people smaller than a finger had welcomed them in. They were all unaware of how vast the world beyond their forest really was. They just knew that it was there. Jacob doubted that even Sam's stories could adequately explain it to such an isolated group.

Their trust seemed all that much bigger and more powerful because of that. Jacob hoped he'd never let them down.

He showed off a mark on his hand, a long thin cut that had healed into a scar. "Didn't start off that way with me, but I think you had a free pass right from the start," he quipped. "I startled Sam and this is what I got for it."

Dean looked and had to battle between a smirk for the way Sam was willing to stand up for himself and the sprites and worry for Sam having to defend himself like that. Compared to Sam or Bowman, the cut would be long. More than enough to be a killing blow against someone their own size.

Sam lived in a world where everything outsized him, but he'd adapted to it as well as anyone could.

“What did you _do?_ ” Dean blurted in surprise. He glanced quickly over at the bed the others were sleeping on, checking that his outburst hadn't woken them unintentionally.

This time, Jacob's grin was sheepish. He folded his arms on the table and reminded himself that he'd since learned his lesson after his first encounter with Bowman and Sam. He'd come to his senses before anyone got hurt (aside from the cut on his hand).

He also knew without a doubt that, no matter how he went about explaining, he couldn't hide the details from Dean. Those were his little brothers Jacob had stumbled upon, after all. There was no doubt he’d find out how it happened, one way or the other, and Sam had already explained part of it anyway. It was better for Jacob to just come out and confess.

"I ... had Bowman in my hand, and then Sam stepped out to tell me to let him go. I was surprised enough to just reach for him ... like a dumbass ... and he jumped up and sliced my hand." He glanced down at the scar once more, before looking pensively at the hand he'd used to keep Bowman in place. It was the same hand that had nearly crushed the sprite the night before.

"He was on the back of my hand for a second, but then he glided off. I was kinda just freaking out at that point so I uh. I trapped them both under a bucket for a few minutes."

Dean’s eyebrows were as high up as they could go while the story went on. “And no one got hurt in all that?” The image of Sam standing bravely on the back of his _own_ hand rose to the forefront of his mind. In those moments, Dean hadn’t even had any idea that it was his brother standing there.

Bowman and their little sister Rischa had been trapped between Dean’s hands at that very moment, so he couldn’t claim complete innocence in the entire situation. His reasons may have been different, but it all boiled down to the same thing.

Unable to get out.

“How the hell do you end up trapping them ‘under a bucket’ for only a few minutes?” Dean asked dubiously, wondering if he should have asked Sam more about how they’d met the teenager.

Jacob shrugged and opened his hands in a lost sort of gesture. "I just ... I put the bucket over them to keep them in one spot while I caught up to what the hell was happening," he admitted. Nothing in his tone suggested he thought it was the right thing to do, and Jacob never had felt that way. He had simply _reacted,_ and the result was trapping those who would become his friends.

"I took care of my hand and cooled my head for a second. And then they started to dig out from under the bucket, actually," he recounted, his own eyebrows going up. At the time, he hadn't even considered the possibility, but the two of them wasted no time at all. "Sam squirreled his way out, but Bowman got stuck before I found out what they were up to. Then I lifted the bucket off to let them go."

Jacob's remorse settled on his face once again. He'd messed up a lot when he first met the odd pair of brothers. He always tried to tell himself that anyone would have reacted that way, but it didn't make him feel better. "I didn't do it to hurt them," he insisted in a quieter voice. "It was just the first thing that came to mind."

Any ire Dean had at the thought of Sam trapped under a bucket had faded with the reminder that _he_ had the same reaction. The only reason the small swordsman had escaped being trapped in a hand along with the others was the fact that Dean had run out of room. The two sprites and their wings had filled his hands leaving Dean just staring at Sam in shock when the tiny glider had landed on him.

“I’m not saying that wasn’t a piss-poor way of introducing yourself,” Dean said sternly. “But Sam and Bowman look like they forgave you for it. So long as you don’t go trappin’ any other sprites, I think I can let you off the hook. You learned your lesson long before I even knew they _existed._ ” With that out of the way, Dean let a smile grace his face. “Sounds like I’m gonna have to see Sam in action, though. The kid might be on the short side of our family, but I’d say he’s as tenacious as I’ve ever been, especially if being trapped didn’t slow him down.”

"Not even a little," Jacob agreed with a smile of his own. Neither Sam nor Bowman had given up on trying to get away from him right from the start. Bowman's snark and determination to escape Jacob's grasp had only let up momentarily when he worried about _Sam._

"He was always hopping right to protecting Bowman, too. When I first grabbed him _and_ when he was stuck under the bucket. I couldn't get a thought together and there Sam was, ready to cut my hand off if he needed to." The pair really looked out for each other.

Pride filled Dean at that. "Always looking out for his family." He cast another glance towards the bed, wishing he had the chance to tell Sam how _proud_ he was of him. He would have that chance the next day, and the next, and all because of the sprites that had saved Sam's life so many years ago.

Dean wasn't going to waste this second chance.

He pushed the pizza box back. "We should follow their example and hit the sack," he said. Despite how early on in the night it was, the ache from his broken arm was sapping his energy. A full night's rest wouldn't go to waste.

They could _all_ use it.

Jacob nodded and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn't as late as it felt like. The excitement of the day had taken all of the energy out of the mixed crowd in the room, Sam and Scar most of all. Dean, with his broken arm, wasn't far behind.

"First thing in the morning we'll head back to the forest and get everyone home," he said, pushing his chair back to stand. His first stop was to double check that the door was locked and the chain latched. He didn't want to risk someone walking in and finding the three tiny, vulnerable people sleeping out in the open.

He checked the curtains next, drawing them close and shrouding the room from anyone who might try to peek in. That done, he finally glanced back at the pillow. Thankfully, he'd set it up near one side of one of the beds, so the other side was left open and no one would have to sleep on the floor. He looked to Dean to see where he'd choose to sleep.

There wasn’t much question in Dean’s mind where he’d be staying. He didn’t want to go too far from Sam so long as the others were all vulnerable and asleep on their pillow. Before settling down for the night he leaned over the pillow, wanting to check on them.

Bowman was curled even further into his wing than when he’d started. Scar was carefully positioned, keeping his broken wing out of the way while still using the shirt to cover his legs for warmth. Sam was barely visible. Only the top of his head was peeking out of the shirt, balled up in it as he was. Reaching out a hand, Dean carefully brushed Sam’s hair so he could see the peaceful expression on his little brother’s face. Sam shifted at the motion, snuggling deeper into the folds. He never woke up.

Dean smiled at that, and went around to the other side of the bed to get in. He did his best to avoid jarring the pillow across from him, but he had a distinct feeling that if any of them were awake for it, it would be closer to a low scale earthquake, based on the amount the pillow shook.

Sinking into his own pillow, Dean kept his eyes on the flannel shirt close by. He at least knew he didn’t roll around in his sleep, and most days he was an incredibly light sleeper. It would have to be enough.

Jacob hid his faint smile by looking at the table and making sure the pizza box was closed all the way. He gathered up the now-melted ice packs and tossed the damp rags into the bathroom sink. With that done, he could take the second bed, settling on the creaky mattress.

He glanced over to check on the others one last time. He couldn't see the pillow very well past Dean, but his quick look showed the hunter was watching over them himself. They were in good care, and the thought settled many of Jacob's troubled thoughts and enabled him to drift off to sleep.

Dean was up long after Jacob faded away. The room was quiet and the dim light was enough for Dean to watch over the pillow and its tiny inhabitants. It was a strange sight, three people fitting on a pillow, but a reassuring one for the hunter.

Two days ago, he'd been a hunter without a family. Without a mother, who died when he was a kid, a brother who vanished during childhood, and a father that abandoned him as an adult.

Now, he'd found a family. _His_ family. They might not be a normal family, but they trusted him and he wouldn't let them down.

Eventually his eyes grew heavy as he blinked blearily at the other pillow. The sight of a tiny shift from Bowman didn't even catch Dean's attention, and the hunter joined the rest of the room in sleep.

* * *

  
The night passed without incident. Occasionally, the wind rustled in the trees outside or light from a passing night driver would creep by the edges of the closed curtains. Even so, everyone slumbered on as the relief from the ordeal ending settled over them like a comforting cloak.

The morning was underway when Jacob woke. His breath hitched and he released a slow sigh before his eyes slowly opened. From the sound of things, he was the first awake. Sunlight tried its best to make it around the curtains, and he sat up to stare dully at the window for a moment.

His gaze fell to the pillow and the sight of the three tiny people still slumbering away got his mind in gear. With a quiet groan, Jacob stood from the bed and stretched his arms out before padding over to the window. The darker curtains had a set of sheer ones just behind them, so he glanced behind and tried to maneuver a narrow sunbeam onto the pillow. He nodded to himself when he saw Scar's wings and most of Bowman's wing-blanket almost glow with the light falling on them.

Next came the coffee. Jacob took the lightest steps he could to the kitchenette to start up the coffee maker and get something ready for the others.

It wasn’t the smell of coffee that did it, or the rumble of the ground underneath Jacob’s feet, but the bright glint of sunlight. A ray fell on Sam’s face, and he flinched backwards for a moment, wondering where the leafy shades over his window had gone.

With consciousness poking at him, the rest of his surroundings started to infringe on his sleeping mind and he realized he wasn’t at home in his own bed. The ground was too soft underneath him, far softer than anything he’d slept on since being cursed. He was still wearing all his clothes minus the knight jacket and belt, and the distant sound of someone moving about did the rest and pulled him out of sleep.

Sam blinked his eyes open, staring blearily at his strange surroundings. It was a few moments before it really started to sink in where he was. A high white ceiling loomed far overhead, and distant curtains let the sun in. Sam pushed himself up and rubbed at his eyes, realizing that Scar and Bowman were asleep not far from him. Both sprites had sunlight falling on their wings, and he smiled. He remembered where they were.

On that line of thought, Sam glanced around and recoiled slightly at how close Dean was. The hunter took up the other side of the bed, his tall frame filling it up almost completely. The broken arm lay across his stomach and he slept peacefully on his back. His face was more relaxed than Sam had seen it since childhood. Ever since running into Dean the other day there had been an intensity about him that was lacking when they were kids and Sam wondered where it had come from.

Maybe one day he would find out.

The rest of the room around them was equally peaceful, and by the tiny kitchenette Jacob was bustling about and getting coffee ready. As the smell began to permeate the rest of the room, Dean shifted in place. His eyes scrunched together in brief pain as he moved, then Sam felt a tingle on the back of his neck as Dean woke the rest of the way and immediately focused on the pillow that lay so close.

“Hey, pint-size,” Dean greeted softly. “Feelin’ better today?”

Sam suppressed the instinct to roll his eyes and instead offered Dean a smile of his own. “You know it.”

The soft voices drew Jacob's attention, and he glanced over his shoulder. He smiled faintly at the sight of Sam sitting up, though the sprites remained asleep. Leaving the coffee pot to fill, he walked closer to the bed to check on the others.

Sam was the only one stirring. Bowman remained curled up under his wing, a little sprite cocoon with a leafy covering. Even his face was barely visible, but it was enough to notice that he slumbered on. Scar lay on his side with a rainy expression on his face, no doubt owed to the pain in his injured wing, which lay awkwardly behind him while the unhurt one twitched a little in the sun.

Jacob opened his mouth to ask how Sam was doing, but a bigger twitch from that wing drew his attention and shut him up as Scar sat up abruptly. There was a startled look in his eyes as he whipped his gaze around, twisting his body to see every direction. Then, the look became a grimace and he hunched his shoulders and hissed out a few sprite curse words. Jacob only caught “ _Rot!_ ” for certain.

"Uh. S-sorry," Jacob stammered, refraining from coming any closer to the bed and crowding the startled sprite. "Didn't mean to scare ya."

Scar rubbed at his face with his hands. "You didn't," he said ruefully. "Mind playing tricks on me." After brushing the sleep from his eyes, he turned to appraise Sam, and then Dean, checking their status and searching for signs of any new pain on their faces.

“You're not the only one,” Sam said in understanding, remembering his own reaction upon waking and discovering Dean sleeping so close. It didn't matter that his mind _said_ he was safe there, his instincts clamored at the thought of being within reach of a person large enough to snatch him up on a whim.

It was clear the subtext of what they were saying was lost on Dean, but he offered his own smile. “Bobby won't get close enough to bother you guys with us around,” he promised.

Sam pushed the folds of the shirt out of his way, working to free himself. The air of the motel was cool against his bare arms and he reached over to drag his jacket close. The temperature was a welcome excuse to cover up his arms and hide the dark bruises that covered them. “What's going on?” he asked as he slipped into his jacket and started to tie his belt around his waist.

Scar stretched his arms carefully and glanced up while Jacob answered. "Just making some coffee for anyone who wants it. Then I think we can head into Wellwood." By the time he was finished speaking, Jacob could no longer hold back his relieved smile.

"It's a good plan," Scar agreed, ignoring the nagging questions in his mind about what _coffee_ was. He might try it himself if it was so important. 

First things first. He turned where he sat and slapped Bowman's wing with an open hand. "Don't sleep the sun all the way up, Leafwing," he barked, even while Bowman flinched back and rolled over. His offended wing flared up in surprise and he blinked rapidly, bright green eyes scanning his surroundings.

Seeing no sign of panic, Bowman slumped on the pillow again. "Was that _really_ necessary?!" he groused.

“Hey, maybe if you wake up on time one of these days, we won’t need to wake you up so often,” Sam quipped, remembering with a sly grin the most recent time he’d tossed his adopted brother out of bed. Having extra strength came in handy when he was wrangling a sprite.

Dean was entertained by the entire thing, and had to hold in a laugh as he picked himself up out of bed. He did his best to avoid shaking it on them. “Sounds like you guys have some experience with that,” he shot down at Sam.

Sam affected an innocent look. “Only when Bowman sleeps in and we’re supposed to be on patrol.”

Bowman sat up with a huff and shot a potent glare at Sam, one that never had any effect whatsoever. "Pray to a rock," he grumbled, before stretching his arms over his head and his wings behind him. As he did so, the sunlight from the window caught his wings in a bright display of green.

Scar rolled his eyes and shoved the flannel shirt away from himself to uncover his legs. He let his own uninjured wing fall open more to gather the sunlight shining right on the pillow. "If it weren't for Sam, Bowman here might have slept entire days away."

Bowman's face heated up from the teasing. "That is _not_ true. I'm perfectly capable of waking up whenever. I just don't."

“ _Exactly_ ,” Sam said pointedly. “You _don’t._ Can’t miss out on all that sun, now, can you?”

Dean had to chuckle as he stretched his back and one arm. The other wasn’t in as much pain after his sleep. It was a mild, low level throb that just served to keep him more distracted than normal. “If you guys have everything under control, I think I’m gonna hit the shower. If we’re gonna be walking most of the day away, I’ll need whatever I can get.”

Sam tilted his head back, amazed at the perspective. They were even sitting on the bed, putting them much higher than they’d been while meeting Jacob, yet it still didn’t feel like it did much next to the full height of a human.

“I think we’ll be fine without you,” Sam said dryly, not one to miss a chance to poke fun at Dean.

"Somehow," Bowman joined right in, easily going along with Sam's teasing. For once it wasn't directed at _him._ He brushed both hands through his wild hair. It sprang right back to where it had been, just as wild as ever. 

"I'll make sure these comedians don't take all the coffee," Jacob quipped with a smirk. Bowman flicked his wings pointedly, and Jacob raised an eyebrow at him.

" _What_ is coffee?" Scar finally asked, an eyebrow of his own raised. The smell that filled the room had him curious. "What kind of _name_ is coffee, for that matter," he added in a quieter tone.

"It's a drink," Bowman answered, pointing to the machine that emitted faint noises as black liquid dripped into the coffee pot. "It's good, kinda like tea, but it's like liquid energy. Made my wings blasted twitchy all morning yesterday."

“Aw, you mean I _missed_ your first drink of coffee?” Sam teased, grinning at the thought of how spastic Bowman would be with just a sip of the stuff. Their dad used to swear by it, and Sam had tried it a time or two as a kid. He wasn’t a fan of it black the way their dad drank it, but it _definitely_ gave him energy.

Like that one time Dean had slipped him some before a long car ride…

While they were joking around, Dean stepped back and tried to slip away unnoticed. It wasn’t likely he was very successful, but he at least gave it the old college try. It was strange being only one of two regular sized people, outnumbered by guys the size of a finger, but it was a strange he had a feeling he would get used to before long. He owed his little brother all that and more after all their years apart.

Dean collected his duffel and escaped into the bathroom. More than getting clean, he needed to clear his head. A lot had been tossed at him in the last few days and he was coming to terms with the changes to what he knew. Some time alone would help that more than anything else. Switching on the water in the shower, the sound of rushing water drowned out the room beyond and gave him a chance to catch his breath.

_My life is weird._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end! These boys certainly need a break!
> 
> Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> **Last:** May 13th, 2020 at 9pm EST.


	24. On the Road Home

Jacob opted to sit at the corner of the bed once Dean was gone, settling his weight slowly and carefully. The pillow wobbled a little, and he tried to slow down his movements even more to avoid sending anyone rolling over the side. That done, he sent an amused grin Bowman's way.  
  
"You'll have to try some more today since Sam missed your performance yesterday," he teased. "Dean practically had to hold onto him for a bunch of the car ride so he wouldn't fly in front of me while I was driving." The little guy had done laps between the dashboard and the back of the seat or Dean's shoulder.  
  
Bowman flared his wings at Jacob and was tempted to flutter up and give him a bop on the forehead. He remained where he sat, however, sticking close to Scar in case he needed help with his wing. "I never once flew in front of you," he insisted.  
  
"I may have to try some of this liquid energy," Scar decided, a faint, tired smirk on his face. "If it can rile Leafwing up more than normal it must be blasted powerful."  
  
“I doubt it took much to get him riled up,” Sam said with a laugh. “I mean, I can get his wings puffed in about five seconds flat if I try.”  
  
He stood on the pillow, trying his best not to wobble, and carefully picked up his rapier. When that went back to its rightful place through his belt, he smiled to himself. _Now_ he felt right, for the first time since getting back. The water in the bathroom gave a distant background noise that blocked out the outside world, a sign of Dean trying to return himself to normal.  
  
Jacob kept his ears trained on the coffee machine, ready to go and pour the hot drink as soon as it was done. His eyes were focused on the pillow; with Sam standing, he practically froze in place. He could hardly imagine what his movements felt like to them, and he didn't want to be careless. All three were in various states of injury.  
  
Two of three weren't even hurt by the demon, but by a plain, run-of-the-mill _human._ Jacob could hardly believe how much time he'd spent with Bobby and seen no sign of the greed and selfishness he'd displayed the day before.  
  
Bowman tried to mimic Sam and push himself to a stand. He wobbled and winced as his bruised legs protested, but he made it. Scar watched him with crossed arms, deciding not to press his own luck.  
  
When he was standing, Bowman stretched his wings overhead and smirked at Sam. "You're just jealous that I can make myself taller this way," he quipped.  
  
Sam arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” He didn't look impressed by the height cheat. A glimmer of mischief shone in his eyes.  
  
Though Sam was plenty bruised, the pillow they were on was soft, so he wasn't worried about falling and getting hurt more. Scar was far enough away from Sam and Bowman that they wouldn't risk injuring his wing while they tried to balance on the pillow.  
  
So Sam decided to take advantage of it all. “I wonder who'll be taller after this!” he called. Keeping a hand on the hilt of his sword, he bounced up an inch and landed on the pillow next to Bowman, aiming to upset the sprite’s balance.  
  
Bowman's grin fell from his face and he stumbled backwards as the pillow sank under Sam's weight. He tried to compensate his balance with his wings, but in the end the surface under them was too plushy for him to keep his feet.  
  
His last ditch effort to leap up and hover above the pillow failed as well. He couldn't find his balance and simply ended up falling backwards in a tangle of limbs. "Blast it!" he blurted out, awkwardly trying to roll over and pinning one of his wings.  
  
Above them, Jacob couldn't hold back a laugh. "Holy shit, Bowman," he said through his snickers. "I don't think anyone could have done that any better."  
  
Scar had a grin a mile wide as well, and he didn't even bother trying to hold it back. "One of the first lessons, Sam can tell you, is _choose your battles wisely,_ Bowman."  
  
Sam crossed his arms, triumphant and cracking up. “I don't think he'll ever learn _that_ lesson,” he pointed out with a laugh. “A lost cause if I've ever seen one.”  
  
Watching Bowman flail around was entertaining, but Sam took pity on his younger brother. He stuck both hands under Bowman's armpits and hauled the sprite in the air to help free his wings. Holding Bowman like a puppy, Sam grinned broadly. “Still feelin’ like the tall one?” he joked.  
  
If Bowman's skin was paler, he would be blushing fire. As it was, his cheeks darkened and he felt the heat all the way in his ears from his indignation. Scar and Jacob both were snickering at him. "Yeah, yeah, so you're stronger," he groused, squirming awkwardly. He felt like a nestling, in one of the many times Sam had hefted him up when he tumbled over.  
  
"I'm gonna bop you," he grumbled, finally managing to reach up and push on Sam's arms enough to free himself and stumble back to the pillow with a flick of his wings. "When you least expect it."  
  
“Good luck with that,” Sam snickered. “You'll have to catch me off guard first.”  
  
Brushing his hands off, Sam decided to magnanimously leave Bowman be. At least for a bit. There were other things that took priority in Sam's mind now.  
  
“Should we get to the table?” Sam asked Jacob, his eyes wide. Without his glider, he felt odd. He had no way of getting around the room on his own. Scar would be the same until his wings healed. Of the three of them, Bowman was the only one able to flit around freely.  
  
Jacob had to take a second to rein in his laughter. The pillow might as well have been a stage for Sam and Bowman's antics, with Scar providing his own comedy just by sitting there keeping an eye on them. "Yeah, sure," he finally relented, a smile still lingering in his eyes.  
  
He lowered his hand to the pillow, careful once again to avoid jostling the whole thing. Bowman sent him one final glare before inching over to Scar's side to help him stand. The knight stumbled onto his palm, and Jacob held his hand stock still for him to get situated and waited for Sam to join him.  
  
Sam stepped up last, only tensing slightly at the way he was putting himself into a hand like the one that casually flicked him the day before. It took effort to relax. The aches and pains he was dealing with were all caused by a human, but not _their_ humans.  
  
Still, putting himself in a hand big enough to close around his entire body wasn't easy.  
  
It was good he had all the trust from the last few months of getting to know Jacob to draw on. Watching the teenager interact with all the sprites, even the littlest, and always being so gentle, helped ease some of the tension from Sam's back.  
  
Rischa trusted him and she was able to read people better than anyone but Cerul.  
  
Once he was in the hand, Sam flanked Scar, ready to help him if the trip was rocky.  
  
Bowman watched Jacob's face, as always secretly impressed with how attentive the human could be. For someone who could probably grab both sprites and Sam in one hand, he was remarkably careful. The hand lifted away from the pillow, and soon enough the other approached to act as a railing for his passengers. Bowman leapt into the air to fly and keep them in sight.  
  
"Here we go," Jacob announced before moving his hand closer to his chest and pushing to a stand. As he expected, the recently-vacated pillow pitched and wobbled from the movement, so he was glad Bowman hovered just above his eye level to watch the proceedings carefully.  
  
On his palm, Scar kept as steady of a stance as he could. Air brushed past him and Sam both as Jacob turned towards the table. Heavy footfalls tremored all the way up in the hand underneath their boots. A hand that would be fearsome if not for Cerul's word that it was safe. "Steady, boy," Scar warned as Jacob started to lower his hands, too fast for his liking.  
  
"Sorry," Jacob said sheepishly, slowing down until his hands were flat on the table.  
  
“We'll have to get you some more practice,” Sam commented as he stepped down to the table. “The nestlings seem to have adopted you already and you'll need steady hands while dealing with those rascals.”  
  
Helping Scar down, Sam took a step back to clear space for the older sprite. A fleeting grin passed over his face. “You could always enjoy the attention while it lasts,” he told his mentor quietly enough that the others wouldn't overhear, knowing that was the last thing Scar would ever do.  
  
Once Scar was down, Sam acted like he'd never said anything. “In fact,” he called up to Jacob, “I think Vel will want to visit again when you're there.”  
  
Jacob grinned, more than glad to hear the assessment. Even Bowman didn't look like he was inclined to contradict Sam as he landed near the others on the table. "Yeah? I wouldn't mind at all if he did," Jacob answered, sounding as pleased as he looked. Behind him, the coffee machine emitted a polite _beep_ to indicate that it was finished and he straightened. "I'll get better about that," he assured them with a sheepish look before turning to the kitchenette to pour the piping hot coffee.  
  
Scar chuckled quietly. "Vel adopts any new friend he meets," he mused fondly. Karlis, his lieutenant among the knights, was the boy's proud father, and could hardly keep up with him some days. "A lot like a certain Leafwing boy."  
  
Bowman scoffed. "Right. I'm not the one who drilled Jacob with questions about ... computers the first chance he got," he said, throwing Sam a pointed look.  
  
“But you _are_ the one who stuck around for the entire conversation and listened,” Sam countered without missing a beat. It was second nature to him. “Even though you had no idea what was going on and thought we were making the entire thing up just to mess with you.”  
  
Sam took a seat on the flat tabletop, brushing a hand over the wood grain it was made from. After so many years with the sprites he had a hard time believing he was actually _here_ , and Dean was close by. Not even the lingering trepidation he felt in him from Bobby’s tender mercies could dampen the happiness at that thought.  
  
He’d wanted it for _so long,_ and now that he had it he hardly knew what to do with himself.  
  
 _We’ll figure it out,_ Sam thought to himself as the water turned off in the bathroom. _Just like we always do._  
  
Jacob poured himself a cup of coffee and set it aside, considering how he'd bring some for the smaller guys on the table. A spoon had worked for Bowman, but on a whim Jacob took one of the small creamer cups and emptied it, rinsing it out so he could put black coffee in it in a portion the size of a bucket. It was still a lot for them, but it might be easier.  
  
Leaving the pot with more than enough for Dean to claim his own coffee, Jacob brought his cup as well as the improvised container and some extra sugar and creamer back to the table and took a seat. "Here we go," he announced quietly, claiming one of the sugar packets for his own drink and leaving the rest for them to sort out their own preferences.  
  
Scar and Bowman eyed the supplies critically. Bowman nudged at a sugar packet and tilted his head to squint at the lettering on the side. "Sss ... sugar," he managed, calling on his rusty knowledge of human lettering. "Never saw sugar that looked like that." He pointed at a few crystals that had escaped Jacob's coffee to land on the tabletop. "Does the coffee really _need_ it?"  
  
“ ‘Course not!” came a bright voice from the bathroom. Dean came out, toweling off his damp hair and wearing a clean set of clothing. “The only way to have it is hot and black.”  
  
Sam threw him a look. “Black coffee is as bad as Bowman’s pine sap,” he complained loudly and grabbed one of the sugar packets. “No thanks.”  
  
Dean made himself a cup before coming over to the table to join the others, arching an eyebrow at the sight of Sam with a sugar packet. It was half the size of the small knight, but that didn’t stop Sam from tearing off the top.  
  
Bowman eyed the sugar packet before cupping his hands in the container Jacob brought them and scooping up some coffee for himself without anything added. He doubted that he would mind the drink sweetened, but he _was_ fond of his pine sap. He settled down carefully to avoid spilling his coffee and sipped at it while Sam added to the rest.  
  
Scar, for his part, was still wary of the drink in general. He would drink it however it ended up with Sam's additions, but he watched Bowman's wings in the meantime. If coffee was as powerful as they all made it seem, they'd see signs in those leafy appendages in no time at all.  
  
"And this place isn't far from home?" he asked, glancing up at the two humans on either side.  
  
Jacob shook his head. "Not at all. Much shorter drive this time, and then the walk to the village. We'll getcha home soon."  
  
“Once we’re finished the coffee we’ll head out,” Dean affirmed as he sipped his own cup. “Can’t head out without at least a _little_ energy for that walk.”  
  
“Not everyone gets energy from the sun,” Sam quipped as he grabbed another creamer and gave the top seal a good yank. A drop of the cream landed near his boot and Sam backed away from it with a grimace. Adding a few similar droplets to their ‘cup’ made the brown liquid swirl into a light brown and Sam picked it up to mix it faster. “There we go.”  
  
Before pushing it over to Scar, he dipped his own hands in and sipped it to make sure the taste wasn’t bad. The warmth from the liquid filled him from his stomach and radiated out. “Perfect,” Sam murmured as he nudged the cup over.  
  
Scar took his own portion of the coffee. He couldn't help but think of drinking water out of the enormous cup that Bobby had given them the day before. He hadn't finished his drink fast enough, so the human's jab had caused it to spill. Scar drank his coffee faster, both for appreciation of the taste and to get rid of the risk of spilling.  
  
Jacob couldn't help a relieved sigh as he worked on his own coffee. He kept an eye on the three on the table, proud and glad that they were out of their ordeal at least. Some of the guilt in the back of his mind wanted to surge up again, but he held it at bay. It was a time to celebrate.  
  
When everyone had finished their coffee (and Bowman's wings were fidgeting just as much as the day before), the group packed up to leave. They left no sign of the smaller folk having been there, and soon enough all three of them were hidden in Dean's protective hand as they all went out and the sight of the Impala greeted them.  
  
The hood of the car gleamed in the sun when Jacob found himself behind the wheel again, Dean in the passenger side with passengers of his own. The key slid into the ignition, and the car roared to life.  
  
 **FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of liquid energy will do a world of good!
> 
> Thanks so much for coming with us on this journey! The gang's all together now, and on their way back to Wellwood! Dean will see them home.
> 
> The next story to post has not yet been decided, please feel free to vote for it in our poll that we have up! Posting will begin on June 3rd for the winning story.
> 
> **[Vote Here](https://www.surveymonkey.com/r/97JX8PQ) **
> 
> Upcoming Events
> 
> _May 13th:_ **Bobby of Far Away** finishes posting!
> 
> _May 20th & 24th: _Part 4 of **Aftermath: A Series of Consulted Shorts** posts.
> 
> _May 23rd:_ The poll for the next story ends. 
> 
> _May 25 to June 2nd:_ Posting hiatus and vacation.
> 
> _June 3rd:_ **The next story** begins posting!


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